Chapter Text
Dean determinedly led the way again, this time to the back of the lot where the Impala was backed in near a line of sparse, untidy hedges. A dim streetlamp flickered occasionally from a few spots away, but it was about as secluded as it could be, and Benny couldn’t help feeling like this was more of where Dean had originally had in mind.
Benny glanced back toward where he’d parked his own truck—middle of the lot, away from any lights, inconspicuous—and thought it wasn’t as isolated surely, but then that wouldn’t particularly matter with the shell on it.
He gestured in that direction even as Dean stepped around behind him, pivoted him back toward the Impala. “Cher, there’s more room in my—“
“No, need you in my car.” He crowded Benny up against the side of it, yanking his belt from its loops with one sharp tug. “Wanna think about my cock inside you every time I look at ‘er.”
“Merde,” Benny breathed, forever a little dazzled by how filthy Dean’s upfront nature could be when translated to sex. Dean didn’t dirty talk for the sake of dirty talking; he said what he meant, and sometimes what he meant was fucking obscene. This entire night had been one occurrence after another of that filthy kind of honesty, and Benny was feeling strung out just being in the presence of it for so long after so much time without it.
Dean dragged Benny’s coat off his shoulders and down his arms, tossed it and the belt one-handed behind Benny’s head somewhere, clank of the buckle on the roof muffled in material. One hand unzipped Benny’s pants as the other grabbed his shoulder, flipped him around to face the car, and then both hands were pulling his pants and boxers down and Benny could hear the soft rustle of Dean sinking to the ground with them.
Benny had just a couple of seconds to try to see over his shoulder as Dean tapped the insides of his calves so he would shift his feet further apart, then Dean’s hands were hot on his cheeks as he pulled them open, licked a burning hot stripe over his hole with absolutely no warning at all.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Dean!” Benny’s hands came down hard on the roof of the car, clenching into fists when he realized he had nothing to hold on to. Dean’s tongue was so fucking hot, licking and probing at him like he was testing the feeling, then flattening again, soft and wet and so shockingly intimate.
He and Dean had done a lot together, but it had been hard to have time between monster encounters for more than some rough handjobs or a quick fuck if they were really lucky, so a slow, leisurely rimming had just never been on the agenda. And Benny sure as hell had not expected it then, right there in the parking lot, but Dean was clearly unconcerned that someone might see him on his knees with his face buried in Benny’s ass.
Dean’s fingertips were almost as hot as his tongue where they dug into his skin, mouth pressed open and sloppy to his hole. Benny’s forehead thunked down on the roof of the Impala as every flicker of Dean’s tongue against him shot like lightning to his still-oversensitive cock. His body didn’t seem to care that he’d just come, his cock filling again steadily, pressed against the side of Dean’s car. He couldn’t blame it; just the thought of what Dean was doing to him was almost too much, that incredible face shoved right up into him, wicked fucking mouth hot and wet and everywhere.
Dean was nothing if not both generous and competitive when it came to sex, and Benny felt like this was both reward and retribution for the double orgasm. He was lapping repeatedly over Benny’s hole, completely shameless, making these muffled little sounds of pleasure, and Benny didn’t know how to even begin to handle it, his hands clenching and unclenching on top of the car, restless and useless.
When Dean sealed his lips and sucked, Benny’s palms pushed down into metal, his head falling back on a groan. He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt this particular kind of focused pleasure, and it was so thoroughly overwhelming for Dean to be the one giving it to him now.
He was about to start humping the side of the car just to dilute the fucking feeling when Dean’s hands repositioned, tugged him out a step by his hips. He nudged Benny’s legs even further apart, as far as they’d go with his pants still trapping them, and then his hands were gone and his mouth was back, and it was worse, so much worse, because now it was just the head of Benny’s cock rubbing on cool metal and Dean’s tongue delving into him, wriggling inside tight muscle. He fucked it in and out shallowly a few times and Benny couldn’t bite back a moan just thinking about Dean’s tongue inside him like that.
Benny felt the scratch of his stubble as his chin dipped forward, tongue shoved in hard, ruthlessly feeling him out. He wished he had something, anything to distract him from how fucking good it felt, everything in him hyperfocused on the sensation and the heat. He tried to concentrate on the cool metal under his hands, tried not to dig his nails into the paint when Dean started fucking him with his tongue in earnest. It took all of Benny’s control to stand still, to take the onslaught, head of his cock rubbing in minute circles against the car with each thrust of Dean’s tongue.
It might as well have been hours when Dean finally sat back, hands up again and kneading Benny’s asscheeks, rough and possessive. “You look so fuckin’ good like this Benny, all spread open for me.” His voice was a perfect husky rumble, and Benny was dissolving. “Would love to make you come just like this. You’d make such a pretty fuckin’ mess all over my car.”
“Christ Dean, fuck.” Benny could hear the way his words shook but could do nothing about it because Dean’s fucking voice. It was filled with a kind of entitled proprietariness, like Benny right then was just as much a possession as the car Dean wanted to make him come all over, and it was insane how much it got to him.
“Mmm, but I won’t.” He breathed the words hot over Benny’s hole and then he was sliding a finger into him, spit-slick and smooth. “Wanna fuck you too much.” He maneuvered for Benny’s prostate immediately, rubbing it with the thick pad of his finger at the same moment he brought his tongue back, traced it around the stretched skin.
“Goddamnit Dean.”
He was scratching the paint now, tried to make himself stop even as he knew Dean couldn’t possibly hold him responsible for it. It was too intense, so much more involved than they’d ever had time for before, and Benny couldn’t deal with it, being the focus of such singular dedication. In seconds Dean had slid another finger in, twisting and spreading with the first, tongue working around them, and it was way too fucking much. Benny’s body wasn’t nearly as fragile as Dean’s—he didn’t need this kind of thoroughness, probably couldn’t even benefit from it with his physiology—and Dean knew it, but still his fingers picked up a slow rhythm, maddeningly consistent, tongue keeping Benny oversensitized.
He lost track of time again, barely even felt the car under his hands anymore. He couldn’t turn his senses off, could still hear crickets in the cracks of the asphalt, mice skittering in the hedges, muffled murmur of voices from within the bar. He smelled the dry patches of grass, old puddles of greasy gasoline, someone’s cigarette from down the block—but this chaos of pure feeling deadened his focus, blurred the edges just enough that everything he sensed outside of Dean just stopped mattering.
But when Dean reached up between his legs with his free hand, fingertips on the base of his dick and palm cupping his balls, time snapped back into place so violently Benny’s entire body flinched. Dean hummed a little, almost sympathetic, but it didn’t stop him from dipping his head as he pulled back Benny’s sack, heat of his mouth closing over one side and sucking it in.
“Jesus,” Benny groaned. Dean’s fingers turned inside him as he moved his arm out of the way, never losing rhythm, and all at once Benny realized how effortlessly exceptional he was at this. As Dean mouthed to the other side, just-right pressure of his lips, wet tongue pressed against him, the only thought left in Benny’s head was how very underutilized Dean’s skills had been in Purgatory—and he’d been plenty fucking good there already.
His hand was moving faster, Benny didn’t even know when that had started, but as soon as he noticed it, it was abruptly overpowering. He made himself suck in a breath just so he’d have something in his lungs to breathe out again, and even contrived it came out shaky, too fast, even more ineffectual than it already would have been. He found himself wishing for the first time in a long time that he actually needed to breathe, wanting that easy rush of oxygen to the brain without having to drink more blood to get it.
Dean’s fingers were fucking him properly now, just on the edge of harsh with only dwindling spit to smooth the way, and it was the most amazing combination possible, the controlled roughness with the melting slow pleasure of his mouth, lapping and sucking at Benny’s balls with a kind of lazy indulgence. Despite his earlier claim, Dean seemed to have no particular timetable in mind for ‘wanting to fuck him too much,’ and Benny was losing his goddamn mind.
His hands were clenched into fists and pushing down into the top of the car, and Benny felt the tension from them all the way up to his shoulders. He didn’t know when that had started either, but he thought Dean probably wouldn’t appreciate any real damage to his car no matter how much he wanted to be reminded when looking at it.
Dean’s fingers twisted in a perfect corkscrew inside him, one ball pulled fully into his mouth with ruthless suction, like he knew, and Benny’s jaw clenched as tightly as his fists. “Keep dat up much longer you gon’ be undentin’ dis fuckin’ roof,” he managed through gritted teeth, fingers flexing hard on the metal as he forced them flat.
Dean chuckled against him, low and dark, all wet heat and vibration. Then, mercifully, he sat back, saying, “Yeah, there you are,” with a cocky little grin in his voice. He gave a little tug to Benny’s balls and one more purposeful prod to his prostate, then pulled his fingers free. Benny hissed, his body not wanting to let them go even if his mind was more than ready.
“Fuckin’ sexy when your accent slips like that,” Dean explained, like Benny had actually been cognizant enough to ask, hands rubbing up and down the backs of his thighs. Benny tried to backtrack over his own words, barely managed to catch the difference. Dean had never said anything about it before, and even as distracted as he was, Benny had to wonder how often that happened without him ever noticing it himself.
Dean gave Benny’s ass one more squeeze and then he was standing up and Benny was trying fruitlessly to relax some of the tension vibrating through him. “You givin’ away all your secrets tonight, cher,” he said as Dean turned him around, clothed cock brushing against Benny’s, hard in his jeans all over again. Benny felt like he should be panting, should be lightheaded, anything to match how damn overwhelmed he felt mentally. The memories of such human responses were so distant now, but somehow Dean always managed to bring them to the surface, make Benny feel vaguely disconnected from himself when his body didn’t react like it would have almost a century before.
Dean just shrugged, not looking remotely bothered by the thought of revealing so much, and reached behind Benny to unlock the passenger door. At some point he must have unlaced his other boot and gotten both of them off, because as soon as the door was open, he was reaching down for them, socks tucked inside, and tossing them into the front. As he leaned in further to unlock the back door, Benny found himself fully bemused that he hadn’t heard or generally noticed any of the removal process. He was just standing there with his pants around his ankles trying to figure it out when Dean pressed a thumb to the head of his dick, hot, callused skin precisely against the slit, and thoroughly shocked him out of it.
His hands came up to Dean’s shoulders reflexively but Dean had already taken his hand away, smirking as he shook Benny off him to get his arms out of his jacket and flannel.
“Welcome back. Get naked.”
Benny grunted in a perfunctory kind of way but he was too worked up to even play at annoyance, so he didn’t bother, just ripped his shirt off over his head and threw it behind him into the car. They watched each other, Dean still with that hint of teasing at the corners of his lips, franticness rebuilding between them with each item removed. Dean pushed his jeans down his long legs and Benny leaned against the car to get his shoes and socks off so he could step out of his pants and boxers, everything tossed haphazardly into the front seat. He had an errant thought that he better not leave any of his fairly distinctive wardrobe behind for Sam to find by mistake, but quickly dismissed it with everything else that wasn’t the hasty revealing of Dean’s naked skin.
Despite his insistence, Dean had more layers to begin with and still had his t-shirt on when Benny got down to nothing, so Benny pulled him in and Dean lifted his arms for Benny to tug it off him. He had to peel it a bit, half-dried come sticking to Dean’s skin through the thin material, and then the full naked length of him was pressed up against Benny the second it cleared his head.
“Fuck. Never got to have you like this.”
His hands were rough and grabbing, all over Benny’s chest, his back, anywhere he could reach while still keeping Benny trapped between him and the car, and Benny couldn’t resist grabbing him by the ass and thrusting into him, making Dean gasp as their cocks rubbed together. He was thinking the same thing about Dean, but felt like he had much more reason to be thinking it, that incredible fucking body totally bare against him for the first time. He’d come so easily like this if Dean would let him, cold metal and hot skin, Dean’s mouth on his and hands all over him.
He rocked his hips a little more deliberately and Dean’s fingers pressed harder into his shoulderblades, breath exhaled over Benny’s lips. His forehead knocked into Benny’s for a second but then he abruptly leaned back, and Benny thought he must’ve been telegraphing some kind of intent Dean disagreed with when he said, “Hey, uh-uh,” and pulled Benny up off the car.
He got the passenger door closed and Benny stepped aside enough for him to get the back open, then he was being shoved down and in, Dean on top of him immediately, shuffling him back onto the seat. He pulled the door closed behind him, both of them too big to be crammed in there together, and for the first time that night, Benny felt like they were truly alone. It shifted everything instantly, a sharp tilt sideways, and for a second he was stunned by it. For the very first time, it was just them, closed in and painfully intimate. No urgency or danger, just this beautiful man on top of him and so much sparking, crackling potential.
If Dean felt the change, he didn’t show it, just nudged Benny’s knees apart and stretched himself out between them, lithe and effortlessly sensual. To the vampire part of him, Dean’s weight was nothing, but everything left in him that was human was melting under the reassuring warmth of it, his complete lack of hesitation in aligning every part of his body with Benny’s, pressing him down into the seat. Benny’s hands cupped the back of his head, wanting to pull him to his mouth, but Dean was already there, hips rolling into him as his lips opened over Benny’s, tongue licking into his mouth and forearms bracketing his head, all of him so fucking close.
He moved like water, flowing, powerfully graceful, cock dragging along Benny’s, hipbones and ribs jutting into him, muscles of his stomach and chest rippling and flexing. They were in contact at so many points, Benny’s hypersensitive skin picking up so much sensation he thought his brain might short out at any second. He hadn’t been fully naked with someone in a very, very long time, and the pure physicality of it was immense, every inch of Dean’s skin a riot of heat and texture and reactivity. Almost immediately Dean started breathing harder into his mouth, and Benny swallowed every breath, heat in his lungs to match the warmth everywhere else.
He sucked on Dean’s tongue, fingers pressing into his scalp, nails scraping just enough to make his hips stutter and mouth slide messily off Benny’s. “God Benny,” he gasped into his jaw. “You feel so good.”
“Would feel a lot better if you… got on with it… yeah?” His words weren’t functioning exactly right, he could hear it, but he thought he managed well enough when Dean nipped sharply at his cheek and scoffed fucking brat under his breath.
Still he sat back, head hunched a little between his shoulders to avoid the ceiling, and Benny got his first real look at his naked torso, black of his tattoo stark and dramatic in the low lighting as it rose and fell with his shallow breaths. He was gorgeous, slim and strong, naturally toned from a lifetime of hunting, and Benny wished he could lay him down somewhere, spend hours touching him just to touch.
But they were both too overeager for that now, he could feel it in the tension of Dean’s legs as he wedged his knees under Benny’s thighs. He’d started moving very precisely, like he was trying a little harder than usual to play it cool, and Benny thought he might be attempting to make up for how unwound he’d been the rest of the night. It wasn’t really working for him, but Benny let it happen without comment—he certainly wasn’t one to talk. He’d yet to come down even remotely from all the time Dean had spent on him outside the car, his cock ridiculously hard, pre-come catching in the hair on his stomach as Dean positioned him.
Dean spat into his own palm, his brief façade fading with a shiver as Benny lifted a hand, pushed it up the center of his abs, his body so incredibly fucking receptive to every touch. He spat again, the wetness of the sound such a tangible promise, and Benny groaned. “Go on cher, tha’s plenty.” His hand tripped up Dean’s chest to grip the back of his neck, aiming for encouragement rather than impatience and likely not quite making it with how tightly he was holding on.
“Yeah yeah,” Dean muttered, but he wrapped his hand around his own dick, exhaling softly as he slicked himself up with one slow stroke, other hand moving to Benny’s thigh, wide palm and rough fingers pushing his knee up toward his chest. Benny let his other leg fall open wider, stretched out in the footwell as Dean lined himself up, rubbing the head of his cock tantalizingly over Benny’s hole.
Just when Benny felt Dean’s thighs tighten, about to push in, Dean let go of his dick. Benny’s eyes flicked up to his face, surprised, and then narrowed immediately when he saw Dean was lifting his hand to his mouth instead. He licked his closed fingers slow and blatantly filthy, eyes on Benny’s, then dropped his hand again, slippery press and glide where his cock had just been. The tip of his middle finger dipped just barely inside, nowhere near enough to do anything at all, and Benny growled, an involuntary noise from somewhere deep in his chest.
“Motherfuckin’ tease.”
Dean grinned down at his hand, eyes looking up at Benny through his lashes, and Benny’s fingers dug into the back of his neck, his other hand reaching for his hip and gripping hard.
“Do it or I’m gon’ do it for you.”
Dean’s grin widened, barest pressure of his finger circling inside Benny, and Benny thought he might actually kill him. “Dean.”
Finally he laughed, a throaty, stupidly sexy thing. “All right, fuck, don’t take my head off.”
“No promises,” Benny muttered, but he made himself loosen the fingers on Dean’s neck as soon as Dean had taken his hand away to line himself up again.
Despite the absolutely excessive teasing, Dean himself hadn’t relaxed even slightly, and Benny watched a full-body shiver run through him the second the head of his cock slid through the spit at Benny’s entrance. If Dean had been trying to buy himself time to calm down, it clearly hadn’t worked. Benny, meanwhile, was even worse off now than he’d already been, so his capacity for sympathy was pretty lacking.
As Dean finally—thank fucking Christ—guided himself in, Benny closed his eyes and clenched his jaw against the very real possibility he would come immediately if he watched the flurry of blissful facial expressions he knew would be passing over Dean’s face. The initial press in stung a bit, inevitably, but it was barely noticeable, his body rapidly working to repair any microtears even as they occurred. And God, he might come anyway, the way Dean was breathing these shaky, poorly contained breaths, barely an inch in and already trembling with tension. He was being so slow and careful about it, always was to begin with even though he obviously knew Benny wasn’t easy to break, but Benny didn’t think it was for his benefit quite as much this time.
“Jesus, Benny.”
Benny’s eyes opened against his better judgment to see Dean’s rolling back in his head, the hand on Benny’s thigh twitching like he was trying not to squeeze too hard. Benny had fucked enough other vampires himself to know what Dean was feeling, the unyielding, unforgiving tightness of it, and watching the almost painful pleasure on Dean’s face was just as bad as Benny had known it would be. He’d made it in a few more inches, achingly slow, and he was so goddamn beautiful, all straining muscles and tenuous restraint, that the risk of orgasm-by-sight was becoming more and more urgent by the second.
“You gonna make it there darlin’?”
He meant it as a dig to get him to move it along, but it came out embarrassingly genuine, a real question, and Benny realized he must’ve had some capacity left for sympathy after all. Dean huffed out a ghost of a laugh anyway, and then gasped in a breath when the aftershock of the movement jolted him in another inch. “Probably not. Jesus, Benny,” he said again, sounding thoroughly wounded.
Benny let his hand move around to cup Dean’s jaw, stubble scratching his palm as he stroked a thumb along a cheekbone, so much calmer than he felt. Dean’s eyes were nearly black in the low lighting as they tried to focus on him, his face leaning into the touch. “C’mon now cher, you gonna let this break you? Show me how good you are.” This came out properly goading at least, and if he slurred a bit, Dean was in no position to call him on it.
“Fuck off,” Dean managed weakly, no heat in it at all, but he sank into Benny the rest of the way, shoulders hunched, bracing himself, as he snugged up against him all at once. Benny didn’t even have time to really feel it before Dean practically collapsed on top of him, blanketing his body again and trapping Benny’s cock between their bellies. Dean’s ragged breaths were plenty enough on their own for friction, and it was too good, heat of his body enveloping him and cock burning inside him.
Benny ground his head back into the seat, desperately seeking distraction as Dean curled his arms under Benny’s shoulders and tucked his face into his neck, breath so hot, body sticking where his sweat met Benny’s eternally dry skin. His voice was muffled, lips on Benny’s throat. “Just… give me a second, Jesus Christ.”
Benny ran his hands up the beautiful broad expanse of Dean’s back, attempting to find some kind of zen in the muscular landscape. He tried to keep the rest of his body still but all he could feel was Dean throbbing inside him, so much fucking blood rushing through every part of him, so hot and so loud that Benny couldn’t possibly forget about it. He no longer had that sharp bite of hunger fueling the vampire part of him, but it was almost worse without it, every aspect of his senses now dedicated to how fucking good Dean felt inside him and all over him, the knowledge of his blood only enhancing everything else.
“A second might be all you have,” he said before he had time to think too hard about it, concession and plea in one.
Dean laughed for real this time, breathless and pleased, leaning up on his elbows a bit to see Benny’s face. The movement tightened his stomach and pressed it down even more firmly onto Benny’s cock, and Benny watched Dean track whatever involuntary thing his face must have done in response, eyes hungry. “You too, huh?”
“Hush.” He got a hand into Dean’s hair to pull him back down and Dean melted into him, moaning low and pained into his mouth. They both moved at the same time, no more discussion needed, Benny’s hips lifting just as Dean’s pulled back, and it was perfect, slow drag inside him so insanely fucking good. They moved again and Dean’s tongue tried to tangle with his but neither of them were focused on kissing, could focus on it around the aimless sounds they were both making, trapped together in their mouths until Benny didn’t know where Dean’s stopped and his began.
He clutched at Dean’s back, his hips, his ass, anything to pull him in deeper, mindless and single-minded with it until Dean was dragging his mouth away just to breathe, forehead pressed to the seat next to Benny’s head. Dean’s shoulder was coated in sweat and Benny sucked on that instead, licking up the pure taste of him, sunlight and open fields.
Dean kept his pace slow probably out of sheer self-defense, but Benny was grateful for it, pleasure rolling from Dean’s hips up his spine in shocking little waves. He turned his head to nuzzle at Benny’s hair and it was too goddamn sweet, incongruous and so very Dean, little sparks of sensation on Benny’s scalp, breath heavy in his ear. It would have been easy and unhurried if this is where they’d started, but as it was, the sex before might as well have been foreplay for all the edge it took off.
“Dean. Jesus. You—“ He didn’t even know what he was trying to say, but right away he felt Dean’s head nodding against him.
“I know. Fuck.”
It was Benny’s turn to laugh, soft and a little delirious, and Dean’s mouth pulled up in an answering smile, lips on his jaw.
Benny felt Dean’s chest expanding against his own as he breathed in, a forced deep breath that made Benny tense a little automatically, wondering what Dean was readying himself for. Then he was sitting up again, Benny grunting involuntarily at the angle change, that particular slow grazing of his prostate as Dean shifted inside him.
Dean smirked at him, or attempted to at least, a little too loose to really pull it off. “Well come on then, go big or go home.”
Benny scoffed back, knew it was just as flimsy as Dean’s smirk. “Oh I’m sorry, am I holding you back?” What he was doing was actively keeping himself from wriggling around like a whore the longer Dean stayed so deep inside him without moving. It had only been seconds but the strength of the urge was quickly becoming embarrassing.
“Yep. All you.”
God he was too beautiful, sweaty and strung out, hair sticking up in every direction from Benny’s hands, mock solemn expression as he nodded totally undermined by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Benny could feel the stupidly sappy look he had on his own face and knew he couldn’t change it if he tried.
Dean saved him from it anyway, head tilting down to watch himself pull out, slow and very obviously conscious of how tightly Benny’s body was gripping him. He stopped a little more than halfway to spit on his own dick, casual and precise despite how little he must have been able to see it, and Benny groaned at the efficient filthiness of it, Dean personified in one raunchily practical action.
He tucked the fingers of one hand in the bend of Benny’s thigh and folded the others around his hip, thumb pressed to the bone, and Benny must have been more of a masochist than he realized, barely hanging on but still taunting, “Finally gonna give it to me then?”
Dean’s eyes locked on his but he didn’t answer, just snapped his hips forward savagely, pulling Benny’s body down to meet him, and Jesus Christ, Benny’d asked for it but he hadn’t been ready, probably couldn’t ever be ready, sensation so sudden and so extreme he felt it in his whole body, was completely and violently on fire with it. Dean pulled out and drove right back in and Benny slapped a hand on the top of the front seat next to him to keep from banging his head into the door with the force of it.
It felt so incredibly fucking good, vicious, bright pleasure in every part of him. He grabbed at Dean’s side, felt the ragged expansion and collapse of his ribs, the unbelievable fire of his skin, the wild churning of his blood under its surface. He wasn’t going to last, there was no fucking way. Dean was looking right fucking at him, lids heavy but eyes as intent as they could be in the dark, and it was too much, too much to feel him so deep and all-consuming and see him at the same time. And then he started talking, voice labored but determined, and it was made infinitely worse.
“It’s like I… somehow forget… every fuckin’ time… how incredible this is… with you. God, like— like no one fuckin’ else.”
Benny immediately wanted to write it off as Dean referring to the obvious: Benny was a vampire and sex with him was different. He really wanted to, but he couldn’t, not with the way Dean was looking at him, the sound of his voice, everything broken wide open. And he knew it wasn’t true anyway, because it didn’t matter who was inside who, it never had. It was like this every damn time regardless, the same blazing, world-ending quality to it, and it had only gotten worse with the time apart. Benny felt it too, knew exactly what Dean meant, and it was almost painful to hear it coming out of his mouth, have it solidified, made so frighteningly real. Dean was holding nothing back—not just giving away secrets but making goddamn confessions now, and it was at once unbearably intimate and so exceptionally fucking hot.
Benny couldn’t take it suddenly, the vulnerability of his position while Dean was talking to him like that, such wrecked sincerity in his eyes. His body tensed before he even really knew what he was doing, and then he was picking Dean up by the waist and sitting him up on the seat. He straddled him in the same motion, Dean blinking up at him, dazed, and licked his own hand this time, slicked Dean up and guided him back in, everything too fast, unable to make himself slow down even though he knew Dean had to be several steps behind.
“Wha— Oh fuck.”
He was forced to catch up when Benny seated himself all at once, pain flashing sharp and then dying away again, body repairing itself around the intrusion. He didn’t bother waiting for it to dissipate fully before he started riding him, pulled his face up and kissed him with bruising force, feeling rabid, ravenous, worse by far than any hunger he’d ever felt for his blood.
Dean made a desperately damaged sound but he wrapped an arm around Benny’s waist and the other around his back, fingertips digging in, and met him on every thrust, somehow frantic and effortless at the same time, panted breaths and punched out moans into his mouth. Benny was lost, fucking destroyed, didn’t know how he went months without this, how he went decades and decades before that not even knowing this was something that could exist. He’d had Andrea and thought she was everything but even with her it had never been like this, so utterly cataclysmic, and he couldn’t understand it, didn’t know what to do with it except give himself over to it. He refused to let up, didn’t slow down at all, and he knew the dry friction must have been rapidly approaching pain for Dean, but it was what they knew best, quick and brutal, and God it was so fucking good, so unquestionably right.
“Fuck, Benny, fuck.”
Dean’s hand was fumbling at his wrist, hand over his, moving it down to his neck. He shaped it around his throat and all Benny could feel was the fervency of his pulse like he was holding Dean’s heart in his hand, and it took him several seconds to realize what Dean was saying he wanted. He pulled back, shaking his head, sliding his hand down Dean’s chest, but right away Dean was scrabbling for it again, pressing Benny’s fingers back in place, other hand on Benny’s face, shaky, earnest.
“Benny please, gonna make me come so fuckin’ hard, please.”
“Fuckin’ Christ, Dean.” How could he say no to that when just the plea itself had Benny digging the nails of his other hand hard into his own thigh to keep himself from coming? Benny didn’t give himself any more time to think about it, trusting Dean to know what he wanted like he trusted him with everything else. He positioned his fingers better and Dean breathed Yeah, fuck, swallowed hard under the side of Benny’s hand, sucked in a breath, readying himself.
He undid it again immediately, moaning as soon as Benny’s grip started to tighten. Benny went slow, careful as he could, Dean’s eyelids fluttering so beautifully, entire body tensing and then relaxing all at once, fully, exquisitely, giving in. Benny rode him steadily, bolts of pure pleasure all the way down to his toes, and concentrated on squeezing just hard enough, listened to Dean’s breathing thinning, rasping, and then cutting off entirely, hanging just on the edge.
There were a suspended couple of seconds where Benny could see Dean forcing himself to take it, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut, and then he was throwing his head to the side and Benny was just holding on, grinding down and gasping the air Dean couldn’t as his back arched and hips drove up into Benny convulsively, wild and raw and so purely honest.
Then Dean’s hand was between them on Benny’s dick, clumsy and off rhythm and perfect as he started pumping liquid fire inside him and fuck, fuck.
Benny gave one last executive order to open his hand, and then he had no idea what his body was doing at all because his senses just imploded, all of them at once. He was left with silence and white and weightlessness, seconds of an everything so intense it was just nothing, and it was the most peaceful piece of chaos he’d ever felt.
Dean was still breathing a little too roughly when he finally gained back awareness of him, and Benny might have been concerned if he wasn’t also grinning like he’d won some kind of sexual lottery.
“Jesus I thought I was gonna come hard, but you went to the fucking moon.”
His voice was gravel but he didn’t seem to care, and Benny couldn’t keep himself from laughing, surprised, because he wasn’t fucking wrong. He felt some sort of mental equivalent to being dizzy, brain buzzing with a kind of peaceful static softening the edges on everything. His entire body was tingling, little zinging shocks of sensation that he didn’t think could be strictly correct and yet were in no way unpleasant.
Dean was still inside him and he gasped a little as Benny shifted, gently lifted himself off his likely very tender dick. He stayed straddling him, not ready to part with the closeness, and could feel Dean’s come trickling out of him, still warm from his body, both of their softening dicks alongside each other, comfortable.
Dean was just looking up at him now, completely gorgeous all sloppy and sated, head resting back against the seat, but Benny was distracted by a fresher-looking glimpse of red at his throat. It looked like he’d reopened one of the wounds on Dean’s neck, the one he’d made himself with his knife. Benny lifted his own hand to confirm, saw blood smeared thinly along his index finger and half his palm. On impulse, he swiped his finger over the slowly seeping cut and then lifted it to Dean’s mouth, fingertip pressed to his lips for barely a second before they parted, let him in. Benny felt the strangest instinctual thrill as he dragged his finger over Dean’s tongue, his lips closing, teeth scraping lightly as he sucked Benny’s finger in farther, tongue soft as it swirled over his skin, thoroughly cleaning the blood off. It felt like one precarious step away from turning him, giving him blood like this even though it was his own, and Benny was a little electrified by it, with Dean’s unflinching willingness to do it.
Eventually Benny slid his finger out but Dean held his hand in place by his wrist and pressed his tongue to Benny’s palm instead, licking the blood from that too. His other hand found Benny’s mouth in the dark and slipped his own fingers in, still covered in Benny’s come. Benny groaned, started licking it off immediately, tongue wrapped around and between to get it all. Then Dean was swiping up more from his own stomach, eyes glinting as they stared straight into his, and Benny did the same from Dean’s neck, two fingers run gently just below the opening where the blood smelled the strongest. It was slow and filthy and strangely visceral in its intimacy, both of them somehow claiming the other with their own fluids, feeding each other by touch alone, never looking away.
Dean ran out of come before Benny ran out of blood, whole fingerfuls at a time versus drops, but Benny stopped when Dean did, both of them just looking at each other for a few more heavy moments, something thrumming between them that Benny didn’t know how to name. Then Dean was sliding both hands into Benny’s hair and pulling him down to kiss him, soft and searching, leftover traces of blood on his tongue mixing with the come on Benny’s until Benny couldn’t taste either anymore, and all that was left was Dean.
┫ ╋ ┣
Dean didn’t know how long they’d been lying there, comfortably silent, his breathing gradually slowing and Benny’s lack of breathing staying exactly the same. He wondered if Benny was aware he’d dropped the pretense of it as soon as they were alone, going from the carefully measured simulation in the bar to the almost uncanny stillness from the rest of the night. Or for most of the night anyway; sometimes when they were together it was like Benny forgot breathing was no longer a necessity for him, and it was fascinating, those brief moments of de-evolution. Still though, it was obvious he was coming down the same way Dean was, his body continuing to loosen against him, or more like half under him, to keep them both on the seat. Dean didn’t actually know what their legs were doing, bent and twisted together in some kind of mess farther down the bench, but that was fine.
They laid there mostly unmoving for quite a while, one of Benny’s hands running lightly up and down Dean’s back, and Dean was very seriously considering falling asleep when Benny slid his head back across the seat to see him better, gaze speculative. His hand moved around to the front of Dean’s neck, thumb brushing lightly over the center of it, and judging by the tenderness of the skin, Dean thought he must be touching some kind of bruising that had been left there by the inside of his hand, probably the big knuckle at the base of his index finger that Dean spent a disproportionate amount of his daily life thinking about.
He hadn’t felt the bruising before then, was so used to soreness at all times that he probably wouldn’t have known it was there until he’d had a chance to assess the damage later. He knew he was going to get off on it all over again just seeing it in the mirror, the physical evidence of Benny’s hand on him like that, and Jesus, that wasn’t even factoring in the bite marks. He wouldn’t be able to look at his own neck without popping wood for weeks.
But Benny’s mind was clearly somewhere else. He looked both teasing and wary somehow, the blue of his eyes one of the only things truly visible in the dark as they scanned Dean’s skin. “What’s your keeper gonna say about all this?”
“I’ll buy a scarf,” Dean answered seriously.
Benny made a very skeptical pfft noise and Dean smirked at him, then they were both laughing more than was probably called for, and the warm rumble of Benny’s chest against his was comforting enough to put most thoughts of later somewhere way off to the side.
And he was decidedly not thinking about what Sam would say to him when he got back. ‘Where’ve ya been?’ ‘Out.’ just wasn’t going to cut it with damage like this, but also, Sam could really fuck off and mind his own damn business. He’d had a year of practice after all.
Dean knew Sam would figure it out no matter what he did, probably already had. It’s not like he was exactly keeping any of it a secret, but still, some business was his goddamn own. There was no fucking way he was telling his little brother all about the wet dream fulfillment of having his literal lifeblood sucked out of him by a genuine vampire while getting absolutely railed, or how for good measure a little later, he’d been choked to holy hell by the same vampire while he rode his dick like he was getting paid for it. Yeah, no, Sam would just have to use his imagination, and if Dean’s neck looked anything like he thought it might, Sam would barely have to.
Benny burrowed into him, beard soft and lips a little rough, thoroughly kiss-bitten. Dean could definitely feel the bruised area now, as Benny nuzzled against it and over a little to the place Dean had cut himself and Benny had first bitten him, and then back again to the second, cleaner bite, which comparatively was the least sore of any of it. It felt like a weirdly sweet act of misplaced penance for Benny to be so gentle with all the spots Dean had asked him to damage, and Dean knew it would catch up to him later, how utterly fucked some parts of this had been.
But it felt so good now, felt perfect even, just being in that moment; no threats, nothing to run from. Just naked together in his car, windows fogged up, Benny’s skin on his. It was warmer than it had been earlier, with Dean’s blood now pumping through him properly, and God, wasn’t that erotic, being so wholly intertwined with him, inside him, in the deepest possible way.
Benny eventually broke the silence a second time, lips brushing up under Dean’s jaw as he leaned back to look him in the eye. “Don’t wait so long next time, yeah? I’m always around.”
Dean let his eyes fall closed again as he mhmm’d automatically, his default response to anything even remotely resembling a question of commitment from someone he’d just slept with, and then he remembered who he was actually talking to. He blinked his eyes open again and Benny was still looking at him, patient and mild.
“Yeah, I won’t,” he amended, definitive this time. “Hey, you either. Need some help with a blood bank heist or something?”
“No darlin’, you’ve done too much already.” His gaze dropped back down to Dean’s neck as he thumbed at one of the puncture marks, looking a little pained. Dean felt guilt gnawing at him immediately—apparently it was catching up to him now. All at once he was pummeled with the knowledge that he had essentially goaded Benny into breaking a kind of sobriety, and what a piece of shit thing that was to do to someone. Fuck.
“Benny, I’m sorry, this— It wasn’t you, it doesn’t really count.”
Benny shook his head, smiling gently, too much fucking fondness in his eyes. “It’s all right, Dean. I never wanted to hurt you like this, but at least it was someone who understands.”
Dean scoffed, but he felt a little relieved despite himself at how very sure Benny sounded, forgiveness immediate and absolute. “I don’t know about understanding, but I’m definitely not some trembling waif that’ll be scarred with vampire nightmares for the rest of my life or anything, so yeah, I’m good.”
“Mmm, I’d sure hope not. Wet dreams maybe.” His smile had gone teasing again, and well, he wasn’t wrong. Dean had already created a shrine in his subconscious to house the memories of that night so they could be easily accessed in excess during times of sexual drought. And probably also the rest of the times. “As for trembling, I don’t know… I think I can make you tremble just fine, cher.”
Suddenly Dean was fully on his back on the seat, Benny hovering over him with a grin for just long enough to see that Dean knew what was happening, then dipping his head and mouthing hot and wet over a nipple. Dean gasped, body bowing up entirely without his input as Benny sucked, tongue circling. His dick gave a fatigued sort of twitch, exhausted but trying its best, and Dean groaned, shoved at Benny’s shoulder until he detached. “Jesus Christ, don’t start that shit again. At this rate I’ll never get the jizz outta the leather.”
Benny fell back, snickering, entirely juvenile, exactly as Dean had wanted him to. Then with no particular discussion they were rearranging themselves again on the bench, facing each other rather improbably with Dean’s ass and shoulders mostly hanging off the seat but Benny’s arm under and around him to hold him there. (Underrated benefit of vampirism: your limbs didn’t go dead when someone laid directly on top of them.)
Benny smoothed a hand back through Dean’s hair, nothing but affection written all over him, and he was soft and solid and just warm enough against him, and Dean could sleep like this for days. Benny’s eyes tracked over his face, stormy-sky blue in the dark. He lifted a thumb to brush through Dean’s eyelashes, and Dean let his own eyes fall shut, lids heavy under the light touch.
“Rest for a while. I’ll keep a lookout.” It was an echo, a reminder of a more deadly, much simpler time, and it made Dean smile even as it made him a little sad.
“Yeah, all right,” he said, another echo, and for a second he swore he could almost smell the endless landscape of trees. “Wake me if there’s trouble.”