Fic: One Way (to Erase Bad Ideas)
Title: One Way (to Erase Bad Ideas)
Author: discreetmath
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural, Teen Wolf
Pairing: Dean/Stiles, Dean/Cas, pre-Derek/Stiles
Warnings: Oral sex, underage sex.
Word Count: 3650
Summary: When Dean decides to kill a little time on a hunt, he doesn’t think it through very well. You wouldn’t either, if you were getting the full Stilinski seduction treatment. Takes place sometime during Season 5.
A/N: SPN/Teen Wolf crossover dedicated to celestialintent, who recognized that Dean and Stiles needed to get together. For science. Thanks to her and lizzstomania for looking over it. :)
Crossposted to AO3
Dean stares dejectedly at his empty glass. He’s been sitting at this table for hours, and he knows it’s going to start looking weird if he doesn’t order another one, or pick someone up, or do anything besides stare at the barback every time he comes into view. But he’s working, so he heaves a sigh before flagging the waitress down for something non-alcoholic.
Said barback is the reason they’re in this town to begin with, he’s pretty sure. When he and Sam had caught wind of werewolf sightings in California, accompanied by a few animal attacks, they’d traced them to a small town and Derek Hale, a former accused murderer whose entire family had died in a mysterious fire.
Uh huh. Not suspicious at all.
After what they’d seen happen with Madison, he figured it wouldn’t be too tough to wait this guy out, but he’d forgotten that most of Sam’s waiting had been occupied with nakedness. Sitting around waiting for this guy to finish hauling beer and actually, you know, turn into a monster is boring as hell. Especially on a Friday night, when the place is busy and there’s no way to tell when he’s going to leave.
“Hey, you want some company?”
Dean blinks at the kid who just popped up in front of him, blocking his view of the bar, and frowns.
“I’m waiting for someone,” he lies, and then he squints. “Are you even old enough to be here?”
“This is a family restaurant,” the kid says with a wide smile, and then he’s dropping into the seat across from Dean and reaching for his cold fries. Dean shoots him a nasty look, but he’s undeterred. “If you’re going to try to scowl me into submission, you’ll have to do better than that,” he says. “I’ve been scowled at by the best, I’ll have you know. Built up a tolerance.”
“Good for you, kid,” Dean says, “but…”
“Stiles.”
“Sorry, what?”
“My name’s Stiles. I’m not a kid.” He rolls his eyes, and Dean’s eyes track down to where his cheeks are just a little bit flushed. He swallows once before he looks away.
“Okay, Stiles, I’m Dean, and you might not be a kid, but you’re definitely jailbait. So do us both a favor and go bug someone else.”
“Huh?” The kid - Stiles - blinks a few times. “Oh! No, dude, I’m eighteen. Not that, you know, you were asking or anything. I mean, you’re the one that brought it up, but that’s not to say that you…”
“Kid.”
“Stiles.”
“Fine, Stiles. I really am waiting for someone, so I’d appreciate it if you took your barely legal ass to someone else’s table.”
Something flickers across Stiles’ face, too quick for Dean to read, and then he’s smiling again. Dean realizes why when he feels a foot sneaking its way up his calf. He tries to drag his leg out of reach, but it’s a small table and there isn’t really anywhere for him to go.
“You bring my ass into the conversation, and I’m going to be forced to draw conclusions, you know.” Stiles licks his lips, nervous, and Dean’s seen the anxious virgin act enough to know that this isn’t an act at all. It doesn’t help that it draws his eyes to the kid’s mouth, which is… distracting. Really distracting, and hanging open just a little, and Dean does not need this shit.
“Are you serious right now?” Dean asks, kind of impressed but mostly just incredulous. “Do you make a habit of coming on to older men in bars?” And there it is, the kid’s blushing again, and Dean has to shift a little in his seat, because those pink cheeks are doing embarrassing things for his dick.
“Um, not usually? But you looked bored, and hot - I mean, have you seen you? - and I think the more important question is whether you make a habit of, you know, accepting come-ons. Like this one, for instance.”
“For instance,” Dean repeats dumbly. He shakes his head, partly from amusement and partly from frustration. Stiles is entertaining, at least, and attractive in an eager, unspoiled sort of way. But Dean’s got shit he needs to do, and he doesn’t have time for this sort of thing. When he sees the disappointed look on Stiles’ face though, the way he slumps and flicks his gaze around the room, Dean’s resolve wavers.
He glances back up to the bar and sees Hale disappearing into the stockroom. It’s not even midnight, the bar’s still packed, and he’s probably going to be waiting for another few hours, at least. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to kill a little bit of time. This kid is forward, even if he’s obviously nervous, and Dean’s pretty sure he’d be eager to please.
He thinks about how long it’s been since he’s hooked up with anyone, not to mention the last chance he had to pick up another guy, and that settles it. Dean digs his wallet out of his pocket and tosses a few bills onto the table before standing up.
“All right, kid,” he says, shooting Stiles a quelling glare when he opens his mouth to correct him. “Let’s see if you’re actually serious.” He ignores the way Stiles’ mouth drops open in surprise and walks around him toward the back, past the bathrooms and out the rear exit into the alley. Leaning back against the wall, he counts to ten, cursing quietly when the door doesn’t open.
But then it does, and Stiles is stumbling out of it, and it’s all Dean can do not to laugh at his clumsiness. That urge goes away, though, when Stiles turns to face him and gets into his space, pressing him into the wall and shoving their mouths together. He’s sloppy, obviously inexperienced and a little desperate, and Dean grips his shoulders and eases him backward.
“Easy. There’s no rush.” He turns him so their positions are reversed, with him pressing Stiles into the brick, dragging his hands down until they rest on his hips. He kisses him again, a little bit slower than the first time, coaxing his mouth open and sliding his tongue inside. Stiles makes this delicious noise, half-groan and half-whimper, pressing into the weight of Dean’s body and just opening up for him, easy as you please.
That mouth, shit, that mouth feels just about perfect under his. He nips sharply at Stiles’ lower lip, grinning when the kid’s hips stutter forward into his, before pulling away. He lifts a hand to Stiles’ face, dragging a thumb over the soft part of his mouth, savoring the harsh gasp he hears when he dips it inside and presses down on Stiles’ tongue.
It’s easy to lose himself in the image of what that mouth would look like stretched around his cock, and he hears himself groan at the thought of it. He shakes his head to clear it and leans back, dragging his thumb down to trace the wetness over Stiles’ chin. He feels himself getting harder in his jeans at the way the kid tracks his movements through glazed eyes.
Dean slides to his knees, enjoying the look of wide-eyed surprise that gets him.
“Wait, I figured you… you know, that I would… what are you doing?” His voice has gone kind of high and squeaky, and Dean chuckles before nuzzling in against the hard line of him through his jeans.
“Are you seriously arguing with me, kid?” And apparently he’s gotten past correcting Dean, because he just makes a broken noise and thunks his head back against the brick.
He’s got his hips canted out away from the wall, looking halfway to debauched, and Dean tugs at his belt, determined to get him the rest of the way there. It’s quick work to have Stiles’ pants undone and his cock out and exposed to the night air. A shudder works its way through him, but he’s quiet for once, mouth hanging open as he stares at Dean.
It doesn’t last long, though, because once Dean gets his mouth onto him he starts right up again.
“Oh, holy shit, that feels so good,” he cries. “Where did you learn to… fuck.” That last is a hiss as Dean swallows him down to the base, and Stiles makes a pained noise before bucking his hips forward. Dean pulls back just a little, bringing an arm up and laying it across Stiles’ middle to hold him steady. Then he dips down again, nose brushing Stiles’ belly as he groans around the cock in his mouth.
“Please, please, just,” Stiles gasps, dropping a hand down to thread fingers through Dean’s hair. He doesn’t do anything but hold on as Dean bobs his head up and down. “So good, I think I’m, oh, shit, I’m gonna…” he tugs halfheartedly at Dean’s hair, but Dean just takes him all the way into his throat and swallows around him.
That’s all it takes to have Stiles crying out and coming down Dean’s throat, muscles in his legs jumping from the effort of staying upright. Dean swallows most of it down before pulling off, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth and grinning.
“Good?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.
“Uh, yeah, ‘good’ is kind of an inadequate word, but yeah. Definitely.” Stiles is breathing hard, but he reaches a hand down to help Dean stand. “I’m sorry I was so fast, I didn’t…”
“Nah, it’s okay,” Dean chuckles, catching Stiles’ eye. “I remember being eighteen, and if memory serves, the recovery time totally makes up for it.”
Dean cups his cheek and kisses him, wet and messy, noting the way Stiles groans when he tastes himself in Dean’s mouth.
“Um, about that…” Stiles stutters, and apparently even an orgasm can’t stop his mouth from running. Dean uses his hand on Stiles’ jaw to tilt his head to the side and dips down, nosing under his ear before dragging his lips down his throat.
“Wait,” Stiles gasps, “maybe you better not…”
They both freeze, because under the hum of the air conditioning unit and the noise from the traffic passing out on the street, something definitely just growled. Dean eases back, just a fraction, and slowly slides his hand into his jacket until he has a solid grip on his gun. He’d loaded it with silver, just in case, and fuck if he’s going to let some teenager get killed just because Dean has poor impulse control.
Stiles obviously sees the gun, because his eyes go wide and he’s shaking his head, even as he’s tucking himself back into his pants.
“Listen to me,” Dean says quietly, “you need to go back inside. Don’t make any sudden movements, just go. Slowly.”
“No, um, that’s probably not the best idea, actually.” Stiles’ eyes are fixed at a point over Dean’s shoulder, and Dean wants to curse the kid’s stubbornness as he turns, putting his body between Stiles and whatever’s in this alley with them.
He stills when he sees Hale standing in front of him, because he looks mostly human, but his eyes are glowing red.
“Huh,” he says, trying to buy a little time to think. “That’s a new one.”
“Get away from him,” Hale snarls, and his teeth are definitely more than human-sharp.
“Not a fucking chance,” Dean says, drawing his gun. “I’m not in the business of letting civilians get slaughtered, thanks.”
Hale takes a step toward him, his features growing more feral by the second.
“I’m not going to kill him,” he growls, “but that’s a lot more than I can say for you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Dean scoffs, because apparently he doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. Hale’s eyes flare red again, and before he realizes what’s going on, Stiles has shoved Dean out of the way and stalked over to him.
“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” He shoves at Hale’s chest, apparently not intimidated, and Dean’s surprised to see Hale just stand there and take it.
“You let him touch you. You gave him your throat,” Hale hisses, barely audible. “You don’t even know him.”
“That’s what this is about? Really?” Stiles throws up his hands. “Well, I’m glad you had such a good reason for outing yourself as a werewolf, when the whole reason I’m out here to begin with is to distract this hunter who’s been watching you all night.”
“Wait, what?” Dean frowns. “How’d you know?”
“You’ve been asking a lot of questions,” Stiles says dismissively, “and this is a small town.” Dean must be wearing some kind of pathetic expression when Stiles glances his way, because he smiles apologetically. “You really are hot, though! I didn’t make that part up.”
Hale growls again, grabbing Stiles’ shirtfront and dragging him in closer. Dean’s still got his gun out, but he’s not sure how he can get a clear shot with the way the thing’s clinging to Stiles.
“Look, asshole, let the kid go or this is going to get real ugly, real fast.”
Hale glares at him over Stiles’ shoulder.
“Do you really think he’s better off with you? Someone who’d fuck a sixteen year old boy in an alley?”
“Wait, sixteen?” Dean feels his eyes go wide with surprise. “Are you shitting me?”
“Okay, guys, that is so not the issue here,” Stiles huffs, waving his arms around. “Derek. He didn’t make me do anything. I wanted it.” Derek makes a low, threatening noise in his throat, but Stiles presses on. “Dean, Derek’s not a murderer. I’m the one that started those rumors, and I promise you that’s all they are. So can we, like, dial this death match back a notch or two?”
Dean and Derek both just stare at him for a minute, and then Dean breaks the silence first.
“Sixteen, you little shit. I can’t believe you lied to me!” He tugs at his own hair with his free hand. “Jesus,” he moans, “I’m going to jail. I’ve stayed ahead of the FBI for most of my adult life, and I’m going to go to jail over this.”
“Calm down, man, nobody’s going to tell my dad.”
“Your dad,” Dean repeats.
“The sheriff,” Derek offers helpfully.
“The sher-yeah, of course, the sheriff. Naturally.” Dean drops his arm a little, feeling defeated.
Stiles just ignores him and frowns at the gun.
“Is that loaded with silver?”
“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.
“See?” Stiles says, gesturing wildly at Derek. “I told you it wasn’t dumb! The whole silver thing is a widely accepted part of werewolf lore.”
Now Derek’s rolling his eyes, which have thankfully faded to a dull red glow. He lets go of Stiles’ shirt and grabs his wrist instead, ignoring Stiles’ exaggerated yelp.
“I’m taking you home, you idiot.” He glances at Dean. “If you try to follow me, I’ll slash your tires. If you’re lucky, that’s all I’ll do. Understood?” He lifts a hand, and Dean watches as his fingers extend into claws.
It’s all Dean can do to nod dumbly and watch Derek drag Stiles out into the street and out of sight. He tucks his gun back into his pants and fishes his phone out of his pocket to call Sam, trying to think of the best way to phrase “the werewolf got the drop on me because I was blowing a teenager.” Thankfully, Sam solves that problem for him.
“Dean! I was just about to call you. I just had a, um… really creepy visit from a local hunter. Argent. He tells me he’s got the local monster situation under control, and he made some thinly veiled threats about us leaving town and keeping our mouths shut.”
“Oh,” Dean says. “Um, yeah, okay, I’m heading back to the motel right now.”
“Really?” Sam asks. “Just like that? No way are we just taking the word of some hunter without running his name by Bobby, at least.”
“We’ll talk when I get there,” Dean mumbles, and then hangs up. “God damn it,” he says to the empty air.
---
“I just don’t understand why you’re willing to drop this without even fact-checking.”
“That’s not what I said, Sam. I’m just saying the guy told us he had it under control, and Bobby vouched for him, so we should leave it alone.”
“What about the deaths in the town? If they’ve got it under control, then how do you explain the so-called animal attacks?”
Dean’s about to open his mouth to offer what was probably going to be a stellar argument when he hears the familiar sound of displaced air.
“Hey, Cas,” he says, “perfect timing.”
“Hello, Dean. Sam. I've received word about a significant amount of demonic movement that's occurred in a concentrated area over the last few days," Cas says. "It's within a day's drive, but you should leave now. I don't know how long you have, or what they're planning. They've warded their location from angelic sight.”
“Hold on, can you help settle something for us? There’s a werewolf in town, maybe, and we need to know if it’s killing people. Do you know anything about it?”
Cas opens his mouth and then shuts it, frowning. He shuts his eyes for a few seconds before snapping them back open.
“The creature that committed those murders is dead. I don’t believe there’s a threat at the moment.”
“Whoa, you can tell just like that? Why don’t you do that all the time?”
“Because,” Cas scowls, “it interferes with the order of things. I just thought it might be more efficient to answer your question before I try to get you to focus on things that are actually important.”
“Hold on, you asshole, people dying is important. I thought you’d figured that out by now.”
Cas makes a frustrated noise and takes a step toward Dean before freezing. His eyes narrow, and then he’s grabbing Dean by the collar and they’re suddenly standing in an empty room.
“Why do you smell like the werewolf?” Cas asks, not letting go of Dean.
“Because he almost killed me like an hour ago, dude, calm down,” Dean tries to twist out of his grasp, but Cas holds firm.
“That’s not it,” he says, shaking his head. “It smells like lust and pheromones, and you reek of it.”
“Well yeah, I mean, I hooked up? Kind of?” Dean fixes his eyes on the ceiling. “And that’s when he showed up, so that’s probably…”
“The boy.” Understanding dawns in Cas’ eyes, but he still looks furious. “You’re lucky the wolf didn’t rip you apart, if you were with its mate.”
“Hang on, its mate? That kid? He didn’t say anything about that.”
“Yes, I suppose he doesn’t know yet,” Cas says thoughtfully, but then he focuses his attention back on Dean. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me why you were having sex with a teenager you’d only just met? I wouldn’t expect you to be so reckless after everything that’s happened.”
“Well, excuse me, Cas,” Dean says, louder than he means to, “but I’ve been following you all over the goddamned country for what feels like forever without a break. The least you can do is cut me some slack when I need to get laid, okay?”
“I see,” Cas says quietly, his expression going carefully blank, and then he uses the grip he has on Dean’s collar to pull him in close until their faces are just a few inches apart. Cas eyes cut down toward Dean’s mouth, and before Dean thinks to stop himself he’s flicking his tongue out to drag over his bottom lip.
Cas inhales sharply, looking Dean in the eye again, and Dean can see where his pupils have dilated, wide and black. This thing’s been simmering between them for who knows how long, and Dean has always assumed it was one-sided. It looks like maybe he was wrong about that.
“Fuck it,” Dean mutters, and closes the gap between them to push their mouths together. He’s gratified by the surprised noise Cas makes, and the way his mouth falls open for Dean to press in closer.
It’s almost like his kiss with the kid earlier, the newness of it and Cas’ inexperience, but it’s completely different, because this is Cas. Cas, who Dean has fought with and fought next to, who has faith in Dean even when Dean doesn’t, and who’s strong enough to drag Dean around and push him back into the wall, shoving their hips together with a stuttering moan. He grabs a fistful of Dean’s hair, tugging his head back to expose his neck, and he bites down sharply before soothing the spot with his tongue.
Dean’s torn between complaining and begging for more, and he makes a protesting noise when Cas pulls away. He can feel his dick stiffen at the sight of Cas’ reddened mouth and dazed expression.
“Cas, what…”
“Later.” He says roughly, looking steadily at Dean. “I promise. But we have important matters to discuss, and I believe Sam is beginning to get worried.”
“Yeah, okay,” Dean says with a long-suffering sigh, even as he fights down a smile. “If you promise.”
Cas’ mouth tilts up just slightly before he’s gripping Dean’s arm again, and after a brief, disorienting moment, they’re back in the room with Sam.
“There you are! What the hell were you… Oh, gross,” Sam groans, turning away. “Is this really the best time?”
Dean catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the dresser, and grimaces when he sees the bruise blossoming on his neck. He glares at Cas, who just stares back innocently, the smug bastard.
“Okay!” Dean says brightly. “Since that’s all out in the open, let's go gank these demons so I can actually have sex some time this year.”
“I hate you, Dean,” Sam grumbles, going for his laptop, but Cas is fighting back the beginnings of a smile, so he figures it’s totally worth it.
Author: discreetmath
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural, Teen Wolf
Pairing: Dean/Stiles, Dean/Cas, pre-Derek/Stiles
Warnings: Oral sex, underage sex.
Word Count: 3650
Summary: When Dean decides to kill a little time on a hunt, he doesn’t think it through very well. You wouldn’t either, if you were getting the full Stilinski seduction treatment. Takes place sometime during Season 5.
A/N: SPN/Teen Wolf crossover dedicated to celestialintent, who recognized that Dean and Stiles needed to get together. For science. Thanks to her and lizzstomania for looking over it. :)
Crossposted to AO3
Dean stares dejectedly at his empty glass. He’s been sitting at this table for hours, and he knows it’s going to start looking weird if he doesn’t order another one, or pick someone up, or do anything besides stare at the barback every time he comes into view. But he’s working, so he heaves a sigh before flagging the waitress down for something non-alcoholic.
Said barback is the reason they’re in this town to begin with, he’s pretty sure. When he and Sam had caught wind of werewolf sightings in California, accompanied by a few animal attacks, they’d traced them to a small town and Derek Hale, a former accused murderer whose entire family had died in a mysterious fire.
Uh huh. Not suspicious at all.
After what they’d seen happen with Madison, he figured it wouldn’t be too tough to wait this guy out, but he’d forgotten that most of Sam’s waiting had been occupied with nakedness. Sitting around waiting for this guy to finish hauling beer and actually, you know, turn into a monster is boring as hell. Especially on a Friday night, when the place is busy and there’s no way to tell when he’s going to leave.
“Hey, you want some company?”
Dean blinks at the kid who just popped up in front of him, blocking his view of the bar, and frowns.
“I’m waiting for someone,” he lies, and then he squints. “Are you even old enough to be here?”
“This is a family restaurant,” the kid says with a wide smile, and then he’s dropping into the seat across from Dean and reaching for his cold fries. Dean shoots him a nasty look, but he’s undeterred. “If you’re going to try to scowl me into submission, you’ll have to do better than that,” he says. “I’ve been scowled at by the best, I’ll have you know. Built up a tolerance.”
“Good for you, kid,” Dean says, “but…”
“Stiles.”
“Sorry, what?”
“My name’s Stiles. I’m not a kid.” He rolls his eyes, and Dean’s eyes track down to where his cheeks are just a little bit flushed. He swallows once before he looks away.
“Okay, Stiles, I’m Dean, and you might not be a kid, but you’re definitely jailbait. So do us both a favor and go bug someone else.”
“Huh?” The kid - Stiles - blinks a few times. “Oh! No, dude, I’m eighteen. Not that, you know, you were asking or anything. I mean, you’re the one that brought it up, but that’s not to say that you…”
“Kid.”
“Stiles.”
“Fine, Stiles. I really am waiting for someone, so I’d appreciate it if you took your barely legal ass to someone else’s table.”
Something flickers across Stiles’ face, too quick for Dean to read, and then he’s smiling again. Dean realizes why when he feels a foot sneaking its way up his calf. He tries to drag his leg out of reach, but it’s a small table and there isn’t really anywhere for him to go.
“You bring my ass into the conversation, and I’m going to be forced to draw conclusions, you know.” Stiles licks his lips, nervous, and Dean’s seen the anxious virgin act enough to know that this isn’t an act at all. It doesn’t help that it draws his eyes to the kid’s mouth, which is… distracting. Really distracting, and hanging open just a little, and Dean does not need this shit.
“Are you serious right now?” Dean asks, kind of impressed but mostly just incredulous. “Do you make a habit of coming on to older men in bars?” And there it is, the kid’s blushing again, and Dean has to shift a little in his seat, because those pink cheeks are doing embarrassing things for his dick.
“Um, not usually? But you looked bored, and hot - I mean, have you seen you? - and I think the more important question is whether you make a habit of, you know, accepting come-ons. Like this one, for instance.”
“For instance,” Dean repeats dumbly. He shakes his head, partly from amusement and partly from frustration. Stiles is entertaining, at least, and attractive in an eager, unspoiled sort of way. But Dean’s got shit he needs to do, and he doesn’t have time for this sort of thing. When he sees the disappointed look on Stiles’ face though, the way he slumps and flicks his gaze around the room, Dean’s resolve wavers.
He glances back up to the bar and sees Hale disappearing into the stockroom. It’s not even midnight, the bar’s still packed, and he’s probably going to be waiting for another few hours, at least. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to kill a little bit of time. This kid is forward, even if he’s obviously nervous, and Dean’s pretty sure he’d be eager to please.
He thinks about how long it’s been since he’s hooked up with anyone, not to mention the last chance he had to pick up another guy, and that settles it. Dean digs his wallet out of his pocket and tosses a few bills onto the table before standing up.
“All right, kid,” he says, shooting Stiles a quelling glare when he opens his mouth to correct him. “Let’s see if you’re actually serious.” He ignores the way Stiles’ mouth drops open in surprise and walks around him toward the back, past the bathrooms and out the rear exit into the alley. Leaning back against the wall, he counts to ten, cursing quietly when the door doesn’t open.
But then it does, and Stiles is stumbling out of it, and it’s all Dean can do not to laugh at his clumsiness. That urge goes away, though, when Stiles turns to face him and gets into his space, pressing him into the wall and shoving their mouths together. He’s sloppy, obviously inexperienced and a little desperate, and Dean grips his shoulders and eases him backward.
“Easy. There’s no rush.” He turns him so their positions are reversed, with him pressing Stiles into the brick, dragging his hands down until they rest on his hips. He kisses him again, a little bit slower than the first time, coaxing his mouth open and sliding his tongue inside. Stiles makes this delicious noise, half-groan and half-whimper, pressing into the weight of Dean’s body and just opening up for him, easy as you please.
That mouth, shit, that mouth feels just about perfect under his. He nips sharply at Stiles’ lower lip, grinning when the kid’s hips stutter forward into his, before pulling away. He lifts a hand to Stiles’ face, dragging a thumb over the soft part of his mouth, savoring the harsh gasp he hears when he dips it inside and presses down on Stiles’ tongue.
It’s easy to lose himself in the image of what that mouth would look like stretched around his cock, and he hears himself groan at the thought of it. He shakes his head to clear it and leans back, dragging his thumb down to trace the wetness over Stiles’ chin. He feels himself getting harder in his jeans at the way the kid tracks his movements through glazed eyes.
Dean slides to his knees, enjoying the look of wide-eyed surprise that gets him.
“Wait, I figured you… you know, that I would… what are you doing?” His voice has gone kind of high and squeaky, and Dean chuckles before nuzzling in against the hard line of him through his jeans.
“Are you seriously arguing with me, kid?” And apparently he’s gotten past correcting Dean, because he just makes a broken noise and thunks his head back against the brick.
He’s got his hips canted out away from the wall, looking halfway to debauched, and Dean tugs at his belt, determined to get him the rest of the way there. It’s quick work to have Stiles’ pants undone and his cock out and exposed to the night air. A shudder works its way through him, but he’s quiet for once, mouth hanging open as he stares at Dean.
It doesn’t last long, though, because once Dean gets his mouth onto him he starts right up again.
“Oh, holy shit, that feels so good,” he cries. “Where did you learn to… fuck.” That last is a hiss as Dean swallows him down to the base, and Stiles makes a pained noise before bucking his hips forward. Dean pulls back just a little, bringing an arm up and laying it across Stiles’ middle to hold him steady. Then he dips down again, nose brushing Stiles’ belly as he groans around the cock in his mouth.
“Please, please, just,” Stiles gasps, dropping a hand down to thread fingers through Dean’s hair. He doesn’t do anything but hold on as Dean bobs his head up and down. “So good, I think I’m, oh, shit, I’m gonna…” he tugs halfheartedly at Dean’s hair, but Dean just takes him all the way into his throat and swallows around him.
That’s all it takes to have Stiles crying out and coming down Dean’s throat, muscles in his legs jumping from the effort of staying upright. Dean swallows most of it down before pulling off, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth and grinning.
“Good?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.
“Uh, yeah, ‘good’ is kind of an inadequate word, but yeah. Definitely.” Stiles is breathing hard, but he reaches a hand down to help Dean stand. “I’m sorry I was so fast, I didn’t…”
“Nah, it’s okay,” Dean chuckles, catching Stiles’ eye. “I remember being eighteen, and if memory serves, the recovery time totally makes up for it.”
Dean cups his cheek and kisses him, wet and messy, noting the way Stiles groans when he tastes himself in Dean’s mouth.
“Um, about that…” Stiles stutters, and apparently even an orgasm can’t stop his mouth from running. Dean uses his hand on Stiles’ jaw to tilt his head to the side and dips down, nosing under his ear before dragging his lips down his throat.
“Wait,” Stiles gasps, “maybe you better not…”
They both freeze, because under the hum of the air conditioning unit and the noise from the traffic passing out on the street, something definitely just growled. Dean eases back, just a fraction, and slowly slides his hand into his jacket until he has a solid grip on his gun. He’d loaded it with silver, just in case, and fuck if he’s going to let some teenager get killed just because Dean has poor impulse control.
Stiles obviously sees the gun, because his eyes go wide and he’s shaking his head, even as he’s tucking himself back into his pants.
“Listen to me,” Dean says quietly, “you need to go back inside. Don’t make any sudden movements, just go. Slowly.”
“No, um, that’s probably not the best idea, actually.” Stiles’ eyes are fixed at a point over Dean’s shoulder, and Dean wants to curse the kid’s stubbornness as he turns, putting his body between Stiles and whatever’s in this alley with them.
He stills when he sees Hale standing in front of him, because he looks mostly human, but his eyes are glowing red.
“Huh,” he says, trying to buy a little time to think. “That’s a new one.”
“Get away from him,” Hale snarls, and his teeth are definitely more than human-sharp.
“Not a fucking chance,” Dean says, drawing his gun. “I’m not in the business of letting civilians get slaughtered, thanks.”
Hale takes a step toward him, his features growing more feral by the second.
“I’m not going to kill him,” he growls, “but that’s a lot more than I can say for you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Dean scoffs, because apparently he doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. Hale’s eyes flare red again, and before he realizes what’s going on, Stiles has shoved Dean out of the way and stalked over to him.
“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” He shoves at Hale’s chest, apparently not intimidated, and Dean’s surprised to see Hale just stand there and take it.
“You let him touch you. You gave him your throat,” Hale hisses, barely audible. “You don’t even know him.”
“That’s what this is about? Really?” Stiles throws up his hands. “Well, I’m glad you had such a good reason for outing yourself as a werewolf, when the whole reason I’m out here to begin with is to distract this hunter who’s been watching you all night.”
“Wait, what?” Dean frowns. “How’d you know?”
“You’ve been asking a lot of questions,” Stiles says dismissively, “and this is a small town.” Dean must be wearing some kind of pathetic expression when Stiles glances his way, because he smiles apologetically. “You really are hot, though! I didn’t make that part up.”
Hale growls again, grabbing Stiles’ shirtfront and dragging him in closer. Dean’s still got his gun out, but he’s not sure how he can get a clear shot with the way the thing’s clinging to Stiles.
“Look, asshole, let the kid go or this is going to get real ugly, real fast.”
Hale glares at him over Stiles’ shoulder.
“Do you really think he’s better off with you? Someone who’d fuck a sixteen year old boy in an alley?”
“Wait, sixteen?” Dean feels his eyes go wide with surprise. “Are you shitting me?”
“Okay, guys, that is so not the issue here,” Stiles huffs, waving his arms around. “Derek. He didn’t make me do anything. I wanted it.” Derek makes a low, threatening noise in his throat, but Stiles presses on. “Dean, Derek’s not a murderer. I’m the one that started those rumors, and I promise you that’s all they are. So can we, like, dial this death match back a notch or two?”
Dean and Derek both just stare at him for a minute, and then Dean breaks the silence first.
“Sixteen, you little shit. I can’t believe you lied to me!” He tugs at his own hair with his free hand. “Jesus,” he moans, “I’m going to jail. I’ve stayed ahead of the FBI for most of my adult life, and I’m going to go to jail over this.”
“Calm down, man, nobody’s going to tell my dad.”
“Your dad,” Dean repeats.
“The sheriff,” Derek offers helpfully.
“The sher-yeah, of course, the sheriff. Naturally.” Dean drops his arm a little, feeling defeated.
Stiles just ignores him and frowns at the gun.
“Is that loaded with silver?”
“Uh, yeah,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.
“See?” Stiles says, gesturing wildly at Derek. “I told you it wasn’t dumb! The whole silver thing is a widely accepted part of werewolf lore.”
Now Derek’s rolling his eyes, which have thankfully faded to a dull red glow. He lets go of Stiles’ shirt and grabs his wrist instead, ignoring Stiles’ exaggerated yelp.
“I’m taking you home, you idiot.” He glances at Dean. “If you try to follow me, I’ll slash your tires. If you’re lucky, that’s all I’ll do. Understood?” He lifts a hand, and Dean watches as his fingers extend into claws.
It’s all Dean can do to nod dumbly and watch Derek drag Stiles out into the street and out of sight. He tucks his gun back into his pants and fishes his phone out of his pocket to call Sam, trying to think of the best way to phrase “the werewolf got the drop on me because I was blowing a teenager.” Thankfully, Sam solves that problem for him.
“Dean! I was just about to call you. I just had a, um… really creepy visit from a local hunter. Argent. He tells me he’s got the local monster situation under control, and he made some thinly veiled threats about us leaving town and keeping our mouths shut.”
“Oh,” Dean says. “Um, yeah, okay, I’m heading back to the motel right now.”
“Really?” Sam asks. “Just like that? No way are we just taking the word of some hunter without running his name by Bobby, at least.”
“We’ll talk when I get there,” Dean mumbles, and then hangs up. “God damn it,” he says to the empty air.
---
“I just don’t understand why you’re willing to drop this without even fact-checking.”
“That’s not what I said, Sam. I’m just saying the guy told us he had it under control, and Bobby vouched for him, so we should leave it alone.”
“What about the deaths in the town? If they’ve got it under control, then how do you explain the so-called animal attacks?”
Dean’s about to open his mouth to offer what was probably going to be a stellar argument when he hears the familiar sound of displaced air.
“Hey, Cas,” he says, “perfect timing.”
“Hello, Dean. Sam. I've received word about a significant amount of demonic movement that's occurred in a concentrated area over the last few days," Cas says. "It's within a day's drive, but you should leave now. I don't know how long you have, or what they're planning. They've warded their location from angelic sight.”
“Hold on, can you help settle something for us? There’s a werewolf in town, maybe, and we need to know if it’s killing people. Do you know anything about it?”
Cas opens his mouth and then shuts it, frowning. He shuts his eyes for a few seconds before snapping them back open.
“The creature that committed those murders is dead. I don’t believe there’s a threat at the moment.”
“Whoa, you can tell just like that? Why don’t you do that all the time?”
“Because,” Cas scowls, “it interferes with the order of things. I just thought it might be more efficient to answer your question before I try to get you to focus on things that are actually important.”
“Hold on, you asshole, people dying is important. I thought you’d figured that out by now.”
Cas makes a frustrated noise and takes a step toward Dean before freezing. His eyes narrow, and then he’s grabbing Dean by the collar and they’re suddenly standing in an empty room.
“Why do you smell like the werewolf?” Cas asks, not letting go of Dean.
“Because he almost killed me like an hour ago, dude, calm down,” Dean tries to twist out of his grasp, but Cas holds firm.
“That’s not it,” he says, shaking his head. “It smells like lust and pheromones, and you reek of it.”
“Well yeah, I mean, I hooked up? Kind of?” Dean fixes his eyes on the ceiling. “And that’s when he showed up, so that’s probably…”
“The boy.” Understanding dawns in Cas’ eyes, but he still looks furious. “You’re lucky the wolf didn’t rip you apart, if you were with its mate.”
“Hang on, its mate? That kid? He didn’t say anything about that.”
“Yes, I suppose he doesn’t know yet,” Cas says thoughtfully, but then he focuses his attention back on Dean. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me why you were having sex with a teenager you’d only just met? I wouldn’t expect you to be so reckless after everything that’s happened.”
“Well, excuse me, Cas,” Dean says, louder than he means to, “but I’ve been following you all over the goddamned country for what feels like forever without a break. The least you can do is cut me some slack when I need to get laid, okay?”
“I see,” Cas says quietly, his expression going carefully blank, and then he uses the grip he has on Dean’s collar to pull him in close until their faces are just a few inches apart. Cas eyes cut down toward Dean’s mouth, and before Dean thinks to stop himself he’s flicking his tongue out to drag over his bottom lip.
Cas inhales sharply, looking Dean in the eye again, and Dean can see where his pupils have dilated, wide and black. This thing’s been simmering between them for who knows how long, and Dean has always assumed it was one-sided. It looks like maybe he was wrong about that.
“Fuck it,” Dean mutters, and closes the gap between them to push their mouths together. He’s gratified by the surprised noise Cas makes, and the way his mouth falls open for Dean to press in closer.
It’s almost like his kiss with the kid earlier, the newness of it and Cas’ inexperience, but it’s completely different, because this is Cas. Cas, who Dean has fought with and fought next to, who has faith in Dean even when Dean doesn’t, and who’s strong enough to drag Dean around and push him back into the wall, shoving their hips together with a stuttering moan. He grabs a fistful of Dean’s hair, tugging his head back to expose his neck, and he bites down sharply before soothing the spot with his tongue.
Dean’s torn between complaining and begging for more, and he makes a protesting noise when Cas pulls away. He can feel his dick stiffen at the sight of Cas’ reddened mouth and dazed expression.
“Cas, what…”
“Later.” He says roughly, looking steadily at Dean. “I promise. But we have important matters to discuss, and I believe Sam is beginning to get worried.”
“Yeah, okay,” Dean says with a long-suffering sigh, even as he fights down a smile. “If you promise.”
Cas’ mouth tilts up just slightly before he’s gripping Dean’s arm again, and after a brief, disorienting moment, they’re back in the room with Sam.
“There you are! What the hell were you… Oh, gross,” Sam groans, turning away. “Is this really the best time?”
Dean catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the dresser, and grimaces when he sees the bruise blossoming on his neck. He glares at Cas, who just stares back innocently, the smug bastard.
“Okay!” Dean says brightly. “Since that’s all out in the open, let's go gank these demons so I can actually have sex some time this year.”
“I hate you, Dean,” Sam grumbles, going for his laptop, but Cas is fighting back the beginnings of a smile, so he figures it’s totally worth it.