Between You And I (Chapter 2/?) SPN-HP
Title: Between You and I (Chapter 2/?)
Author: lifelesslyndsey
Rating: NC 17
Word Count: Uh....I have no idea. I do know that the lemon in this is like 8k all on it's x22 own though.
Warnings: Various spoilers pre season six of supernatural, and all of Harry Potter. Total disregard of time lines, and plot points, and dead characters. Abuse of both Supernatural and Harry Potter fandom to fit my story. Possible Wincest, implied twincest, threesome. Dirty, dirty boy sex, occasions and implications of het sex and past relations with various characters. Uhh...more warnings as we go, I'm sure. This particular chapter has vague spoilers for 5x22 of SPN.
If you click here you can find the masterpost.
Chapter: One
Disclaimer: This ain't my sandbox, I'm just playing in it. These people are not real, and not mine. But I talk to them anyway. What does that say about me? Also, no profit is being made from this, or any of my other fics.
a/n I couldn't find where I saved the beta'd version of this, so for that I apologize.
Sunday afternoon dawned disgustingly bright for a room that seemed so dark the night before. He woke just as Potter did, both un-tangling from their not-cuddle wordlessly, peeling sticky limbs apart with manful winces and the occasional grunt. Dean opened his mouth but Potter shushed him with a weak and sleepy glare. "No talk. Coffee."
Jesus, Dean wanted to kidnap the little fun-size fucker and keep him locked in the trunk of the Impala. Potter was fucking perfect. He ruthlessly squashed those thoughts, mentally salting and burning them for good measure, because that was the kind of shit that got him in trouble, Cassie being the perfect fucking example. And it wasn't like he wasn't still carrying some weird little torch for Lisa, and they hadn't done anything but fuck. Whatever it was he had with this guy, Dean knew it was going to end, and there wasn't shit he could do about it.
Potter pulled on a pair of boxers and tripped his way to the kitchen, leaving Dean to gather his clothes and find the bathroom. He cleaned away the dried and crusted come from his thighs, wincing a little as he flexed his ass. He was feeling it now, of course, not exactly a pain, but an ache he couldn't name. He shrugged, staring at his fucked-out expression in the mirror. Totally fucking worth it. He felt better then he had in a long time.
Potter shoved a steaming mug of coffee into his hands just as he entered the kitchen. "Mornin'," he croaked, giving Dean a sleepy smile.
Dean drank deeply, sighing happily into the warm mug of simple black coffee. "Not a mornin' person, then?"
"Mmhm," Potter grunted, taking another swallow. "Hardly a person at all till I've a cuppa. If it wasn't for work, I'd sleep till noon every day. As it is, it's about three now. Don't you have a...friend, awaiting you?"
"Oh shit, Sammy," Dean groaned, fishing his phone out of the pocket. Seven texts and three voice mails. That had to be a fucking record.
He called Sam, sighing into the receiver as Sam picked up with his usually bitchy 'Where the fuck are you?Do you know what time it is? Do you even know what day it is?'
"Dude. I am a grown ass man. I told you I'd be home when I came home. I texted you yesterday that I was fine. Whatever. What? Yes, of course. Sam. Sammy. Jesus, get laid and stop harping on me, you giant freaking girl. No! Dude. I'm the older brother, it's not your responsibility to check up on me. What? Whatever bitch. Bye. Yes! Bye. Ass." Dean clicked the phone shut with a grin. "He's going to feel like a total dick when I give him his lap top."
"Brother?" Potter asked, eyes wide and far more awake. "I thought he was a business partner slash ex boyfriend."
"Hardly," Dean replied happily, draining his coffee and stealing Potters of the counter. "Although we get that a lot. Why the hell does every one think I'm the...the reciever? Bottom, whatever. Cause' I'm not."
"Really," Potter said, raising a brow, and yanking his coffee back with a playful snap of his teeth. "Thats not what you said last night..."His words tapered off into a stiffling silence.
Dean cringed, "Awkward." He shrugged, giving Potter a grin. "Don't know what to say. Thanks for hooking me up with the computer, and uh, blow jobs, free chocolate and two days worth of awesome sex? S'good way to spend the weekend? You know, my brother, uh...he's not going anywhere for a bit...."Dean says, with a little leer.
"Optimistic little bugger, you are. I'd be inclined to take you up on that offer if I didn't have work. We're training interns. Yay," Potter teased, before his smile faltered a little. "I know you move around a lot, you've said as much, but if you're ever in the area... Look, I kind of like you. You're...a good guy, you know? Kindred spirit, or whatever. And...this...well um.... So, if your ever in the area, hit me up." He paused, freeing his wallet from his back pocket, and handing Dean a card. "And uh...you know, call me. If you ever need help. For anything. Even if your not in the area."
"Are you saying if I called you from Rhode Island needing a tow, you'd show up?" Dean laughed, tucking the card into his pocket.
"Yes," Potter said seriously. "We're two of a kind, Dean. Not to many of us out there. We have to have each others back."
The honesty in the statement made Dean paused, a niggling of guilt flaring in side him at the secrets he was keeping. He use to have some one's back; use to have a partner. Sure Sam was back in his life, but things just weren't...there yet. He realized that Potter would make an excellent hunter, all that jaded stubbornness wrapped up in a veteran package. Instantly he felt guilty for even considering betraying his brother for another Hunter. There would never be any other partner for Dean. It would always be Sam in the passenger seat.
"Well in that case," Dean grabbed a pen off the counter and scrawled his own number on a corner of a piece of new paper. "You can call me. If anything...weird ever happens. No matter how weird, call me, and I'll come."
xXxXxXx
Dean returned to the hotel trying to look like he didn't just get fucked in the ass. He wasn't exactly sure what that looked like, but if any one could read it on his face, it would be Sam. Potter had wrapped the lap top up in the girliest, pinkest, sparkliest bag he could find, slapping on a big, pretty bow to boot. Apparently his business partner had them laying around, or something. Either way, if he was going to go all out, he was going to go all out.
"What the hell is that?" Sam asked, stepping out of the bathroom, tooth brush hanging out of his mouth.
"That is to make up for several missed birthdays, Samantha. And for fighting off the apocalypse with me. You know, the little things," Dean said with a small grin. "Happy, happy, happy, happy birthday, bitch. And many fucking more, thanks to us."
Sam glared, rummaging through the pink crape paper. His hands stilled, tooth brush dropping out of his mouth onto the kitchenette table, splattering minty white across the chipped peach-toned Formica. "Holy shit, you bought me a lap top?"
"I bought you an awesome laptop, actually," Dean reiterated. "You know...uh. I just thought you'd like it."
"Thank you Dean," Sam said honestly, making Dean squirm. He'd really had enough girl-moments for the day, thank you very much.
"Whatever. It's a business expense," Dean said gruffly.
Sam ignored him in favor of firing up the thing. "Dude. The screen-saver is a unicorn. Hey! It's pass coded!"
"I know, right?" Dean replied. "I had to pay extra for that and everything."
"Jerk." Sam frowned, sniffing lightly. "Dude. You smell like jizz and ass."
Dean did not, no matter what Sam would tell you if you asked, blush.
Except for that he totally did.
Shut up.
"Harry, stop sighing, it sounds to much like the Whimtoad mating call for my liking. You'll end up with an infestation in your socks, and I can't be bothered to help you right now," Luna stepped behind the counter, sliding a tray of various truffles into the display case, a neatly orchestrated row of trays following behind her magically. She grabbed them each with dainty, pale hands, fitting them to place. "Have you given any thought to what I said?"
"Where would I go, Luna?" Harry asked, leaning against the counter. He loved his flighty friend dearly, and was glad she'd found him in the states. "I like it here with you." he added fondly.
She slid the last tray of chocolate macroons onto it's shelf, turning to smile at her friend. "I love having you about, Harry, you know that. After Father....Well, coming to California after...well, this was my fresh start. I've found my niche, perhaps it's time you found your own. And you know that no distance is really a hindrance for a Witch or Wizard. You'll see us so much you'll be sick of us." She reached over, taking Harry's hand. "You know I'm right, Harry."
"As you always are, Ms.Lovegood," Harry conceded. Luna had changed since Hogwarts, losing her more peculiar ways. Though she'd mellowed over the years, as war will do to the young, she' still believed the preposterous, and never lost her ever present calm. She would never be an amazingly powerful witch, but she was a formidable Seer, and pretty much the best person Harry had every met. If she hadn't already told him no, he'd have married her in a heartbeat. She was his heterosexual life partner and his best friend, though neither Ron nor Hermione would spite him for it. Luna was exactly what Harry needed to keep him grounded after...well. After everything.
"Don't think I don't know why you haven't left, Mr.Potter." Luna said, counting the money in the drawer. "You can't live your life around The One That Got Away. Often such things need to be followed."
"I'm doing no such thing." Harry leveled Luna with a glare. "And I have no idea how to go about following him. I just...he felt different, Luna. Not like you, or the Weasleys, or Hermione. My magic couldn't get enough. I feel like I need him. Everything felt right."
But Harry new that Luna knew as much without Harry ever having put unmaly words to the notion. After all, she had caught him rather red handed, scrying for the location of a certain hazel eyed hunter. Though he understood that such an act could be viewed as desperate and creepy, he couldn't help but feel like he shouldn't have let Dean walk away so easily. He felt light in a way that he hadn't since the war. But the feeling of relief had faded even before the scent of Dean clinging to his sheets and pillows had.
What Luna didn't know is though it had yet to yield any results, a strange feat unto itself, Harry hadn't given up hope. He just kept his scrying mirror better hidden. Well she might have known, she just didn't say anything. Luna never flaunted her Gift.
"Lies," Luna said simply, turning the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Now, as I was saying. Perhaps you need to start fresh. Somewhere new and exciting."
"If this is your subtle way of suggesting I go San Francisco and join my people, you're doing an awful job," Harry replied, snatching a chocolate biscuit off the counter. "But I wouldn't say no to some sun and sand."
Luna nodded, seemingly content with the answer. "Thats to bad, because I've already found you a flat just outside of Baton Rouge. It's a quiet mixed magical community called Merrydale. And it's old, and the people won't bother you, not there. But it's got lots of witches and wizards your own age, and you need that, Harry."
"Luna, you're younger then me," Harry reminded her. "And why do you bother badgering me when you know what I'll answer."
"Hufflepuffs badger, Harry. I'm a Ravenclaw, I caw, " she said primly, with a nod. "And I only ask because I'd hate to seem presumptuous. I've already connected your fire place to the floo, and sent your things. You'll do well to thank me."
"Yes, thats not presumptuous at all," Harry laughed. "Why there?" There really was no point in arguing, and Harry wouldn't deny that he was pleased to find his sudden, albeit slightly forced move, hassle free. Besides he hadn't been working at Hermione's shop for weeks now, since she brought in the new interns. He felt restless, and bored. Luna had never steered him wrong. His trust in her was explicit.
"As if I'd tell," Luna smiled serenely. "I will tell you that we'll see each other plenty. Now, you go on, it's nearly rush-hour for interstate-floo, and the grates are bound to be crowded."
Leaning slightly, Harry kissed Luna on the cheek. "You're to good to me, Ms.Lovegood."
"You're absolutely right, Mr.Potter."
"Whats wrong with you?" Sam asked abruptly, dropping his fork with a clatter. "You've been moping for like weeks now."
"Nothings wrong with me," Dean replied evenly, biting into his greasy, delicious Philly cheese stake. He took his sweet-ass time chewing. "And I'm not moping."
"You are," Sam argued. "What the hell is up with you? I thought this was what you wanted? We're back to plain-old-hunting. Bobby's, Cas has managed to learn a modicum of social interaction. Oh, and the Apocalypse has been averted with little destruction and death. I'd say shit's pretty good right now. And for some fucking reason, you're moping"
Dean set his sandwich down, suddenly not hungry. "I said I was fine." He wasn't. "I'm not moping." He was. For six weeks now. Since that poltergeist in Oregon.
Since Potter.
Sam sighed, his face crumpling in a way that promised Talking with a capital T. "You are, Dean, and I hate seeing you like this. We're back to salt-and-burns, we're together, just like you wanted. I don't know what else you want." He swallowed, looked away. "Is it...do you want to give up hunting? Go...find Lisa...like you planned."
"No!" Dean snapped. "God no. I...Really, Sam. I'm happy; I'm glad things are back to normal. Huntin' is my life, and I'd never give it up, not for nothing. And having you right there with me, it makes it worth it. I got everything I need. Got you, Bobby, Cas. S'my family, right there. I'm not unhappy, okay? Why would you even think I'd wanna find Lisa?"
Sam's uncomfortable expression deepened, and he fiddled with the salt shaker. "Uh. You're not....you know. Hooking up. Like, at all. For like a month and a half."
"Keeping track?"
"I haven't had to sleep in the car for six weeks. It's pretty easy to keep track."
Dean shredded the wrapper to his straw, glancing around the tiny diner. "Maybe I'm just sick of it. Dad always said I'd grow outta it, and maybe I finally have."
Dean watched in horror as Sam took in a deep breath, and folded one hand into the other on the table. Oh no. That was the look Sam got when he was preparing to bust out the big guns, Sam was about to play his wild-card. His expression screamed I know something, and it could be anything, so just fucking admit it already.
"Did you meet some one in Oregon?"
Oh dear God.
Anything but that.
Couldn't he just accuse Dean of having crabs again? Dean would have preferred that.
"Don't you think you would have noticed?" Dean dissembled. "When the hell would I have met some one?"
"You were gone for an entire weekend," Sam argued. "In all my years I've seen you scamming chicks at bars, never once have you stayed the night. Awkward mornings just aren't your style. The only chick I've ever heard you spent more then a night with was Lisa, and you've been hung up on her for a while. Oregon was six weeks ago, you stopped fucking around six weeks ago. You started moping six weeks ago. I think you met some one."
"I didn't meet any one."
"Do you miss them, is that it?" Sam pressed. "We can go back...."
"No!" Dean snapped. "No...I...okay. I did meet some one; maybe I do miss them, or the idea of them, or whatever. But...it's...it's not like it matters? I mean, I tried that, didn't I? With Cassie, and look how that turned out? I can't have....even if I wanted one, I mean....I can't have a relationship. Not that I want one."
"It's okay to want that," Sam said, all soft and girly and Dean wanted to punch him in the neck. "It's normal. I mean, you're...uh. Getting up there in years..."
"I am not old!"
"You're almost thirty."
"I'm twenty-eight!"
"Two years, and you'll be in your thirties."
"Shut up!" Dean cried. "I'm not old. And...we're not normal. We don't get to be normal. I'll never find someone who will understand what it is I do, and if I do...just...look at Ellen, Ash and Jo. They're all dead. Do I want to bring a family into this? No. I got my family. I got you, Bobby and Cas. And...I'm okay with that. So shut up about this."
"Dean---"
"Shut up. God. Now I need a beer."
"It's twelve o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon."
"You drive me to drinking, Sam. How does that make you feel? Bitch."
“.....jerk.”
"Call him, Harry."
"I can't."
"You can. What you mean is you won't."
"I can't Hermione!" Harry huffed. "It's been to long. It'll seem weird now."
"Merlin, your stupid," she sighed. It sounded exactly like it had when they were teenagers. Boys are so dumb. "You miss him. Just call him."
They were seated in the breakfast nook of his new Merrydale apartment, tearing at fresh scones Harry had bought from the bakery below. He loved this place. It felt more like home then anything had before, and he loved Luna a little more for finding it. "It's been to long. I'll look stupid."
"It's only going to get longer," Hermione said reasonably. "It's been what? Month and a half? You're miserable. You miss him."
"Of course I do," Harry snapped. "He was bloody perfect, wasn't he? Oh except that part where he was a hunter!"
"He doesn't have to know yet. He can get to know you," she argued, pouring him a new cup of tea. "Just call him."
"What would I say?" Harry asked, turning to stare out the window. He over looked the center of town, with all it's bustling shops. Half of them were invisible to the passing muggles, selling squawking three-headed birds, and jars full of beetle wings. Muggle and Wizard, merged seamlessly along the cobble stone. It was a pretty picture.
"Hello, for starters," Hermione huffed. "Harry Potter. You might remember me? We spent a weekend sullying every available surface in my apartment."
"I should call him and talk about the sex we had?" Harry asked, bewildered. That seemed a little forward, even for his forward-thinking friend.
Hermione smiled, her nose wrinkling. "Well no, not entirely, but if you happen to bring it up, don't be shy. But from what you've told me, you two had much more in common then sexual compatibility."
"I'll...I'll think about it, okay?" He asked, leaning down to pick scoop up his python, Cringe, into his arms."I do miss him."
"I know you do," Hermione said gently. "He must have been something special."
"He just....he felt right."
Dean was half asleep on his bed when his phone rang, vibrating in his pants. He grumbled into his pillow before fishing it out of his pocket.
"Lo'?"
"Dean? Oh bugger," a surprisingly familiar voice said from the other end. "I've woken you up. I've no idea where you are, or what time it is. Shall I call back later?"
"Is everything okay? Are you okay?" Dean sat up, surprised and still sleep fuzzy.
"What?" Potter said from the other end. "Everything is quite well, actually. Um..."
Breathing out, Dean relaxed back on the bed. "Oh good. I just thought, cause' I told you to call if...yeah. Um."
"I didn't mean to call you!" Potter blurted, following the admission with a disgusted groan. "I sat on my phone. This is an arse call. I miss you, though. I wanted to call...but it's been weeks...and I don't know the protocol here."
Laughing lightly, Dean scratched his stomach absently, trying to tamp down the inexplicable tingling stupid feelings he hadn't had since he was a teenager trying to just talk to girls without feelings stupid. "Miss me huh?"
"I may change my mind," Potter informed him. "Depending on your reaction to said statement."
"I'm glad you called," Dean admitted, glad that Sam was on a food run. "Glad you sat on your phone, at any rate. You should do it more often."
Harry's sigh was small but audible crackling sharply through the receiver. "Is it very late? Where you are? I hadn't meant to wake you. Honestly, I hadn't given it any thought. I had been hanging up when I heard you, but I thought it would be very rude as you'd already answered."
"Why would you hang up?" Dean asked, trying not to sound hurt. He rolled onto his side, phone mashed between his face and the pillow, and palmed his half-hearted erection, adjusting it awkwardly.
"Well," Potter said at length. "How many one-offs do you call, a month later?"
Oh. "None. But I don't share my number with any of them either," Dean replied. The implication was loud and clear, and Potter laughed.
"I'm special, am I?" He teased. "Where are you?"
".....Sweetwater, Texas. Hotter'n hell here." Dean replied, kicking off his boots. They landed with two loud thunks at the end of his bed.
Potter paused again, and then his voice was sly. "Hot, you say?"
"Like...hundred-and-one, or something," Dean replied absently, working a toe into his socks and peeling them off too. "Sweating my balls off."
There was a rustle of something over the phone line, before Potter said quietly. "What are you wearing?"
And the words went straight to Deans dick.
He blinked, eyes flickering to the door. Sam had only just left. He'd have time, he thought. He should be talking to Potter though, like a person. Not a mindless slut.
Eh. Fuck it, Dean thought.
He was a mindless slut.
"Too much," he said, un-zipping his pants slowly, loud enough to be heard over the phone.
"Leave em' on," Potter nearly growled. "Take your dick out."
"Fuck yes," Dean replied eagerly. "Wait. Wait, if I do this, you have to do it to."
"Already am," Potter replied hotly. "Are you hard? Are you already hard for me?"
"Morning wood," Dean said, reaching for his cock. "Fuckin' voice, doesn't help."
"No touching," Potter replied, his voice suddenly business like. "Don't touch yourself till' I say."
"What?" Dean groaned, rolling onto his back. "I think this would be more fun if I ----"
"No. Do you think about that weekend, Dean? How I sucked you off in my kitchen, came all over your legs?"
"Ye...yeah. You're all I can fuckin' think about. Driving me crazy," Dean admitted, and swore at himself. It wasn't as if it wasn't true, but he didn't need to fucking say it.
Harry chuckled, dark and dirty. "When your with a woman, do you think about how much you liked being rough with me? How much you liked how I was small enough to man handle, but hard enough to take it?"
"I love that," Dean whispered. "God I love that. Can't do that with a chick."
"Do you touch yourself Dean? God, you're such a natural bottom, you took it like a champ. I sank right into you. Do you stick your fingers up your arse when you touch yourself? Think about me?"
"Nn..no. I can't," Dean said, one hand holding the phone, the other curling around the head board.
"You should. I'd...I think about you doing that...watching you," Harry replied, whimpering a little. "Didn't you like it? Like how I felt Winchester, balls deep in your arse?"
"God I loved it," Dean groaned. "Shit, I'm so fucking hard. Keep talking."
"God, I can't stop thinking about you, though I know I should. Just a one off, right? But I can't stop thinking about it, and us, and I do touch myself. I shove my fingers up my arse and imagine it's you. Bloody hell, I come so hard."
"God, fuck. You want me to fuck you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement and Dean groaned it. "I want to fuck you. Jesus, I want to shove you down and spread you open..."
"Yes, yes, oh thats it. Do you...Do you know how much I love sucking that pretty cock of yours. Love it, love it."
"I...I want to fuck your mouth," Dean moaned. "God I have to touch myself. Please...." Begging. He was begging. Again.
"God, do it, yes. Tell me more. Would you come on my face?"
His palm was hot, but his cock was hotter, and he groaned loudly, relief and pleasure drowning him. "I'd...I'd grab you by your hair, work..." he swallowed, swiping his thumb over his cock. "Work my cock down your throat till you choked. Come, come all over your face, drip down your neck and mouth. You'd...you'd lick it up, just like you did. Jesus...oh fuck, I'm nnnngh." He came, come spraying up across his chest and shirt, dick spasming in his hand.
"Bloody...fucking...hell. Ohhh," Potter moaned, and Dean wished he could see it, watch Potter huffing, his cock pouring come across his stomach.
"Send..." he swallowed. "Send me a picture of what you look like right now."
"I've come in my belly button," Potter replied with a laugh. "And my dicks not even hard; it's very unattractive."
"Send it anyways."
"Demanding sod."
His phone pinged, and he opened it with a grin and a groan. There was Potter, spread out on his chic little couch, pants around his thighs, one hand cupping his cock shyly. He was shirt-less, come icing his stomach like a fucking birthday cake. There was a clean line wiped through it, and Potter was sucking his finger into his mouth, gazing coyly at the camera. It was almost comical, except it was...well it was fucking hot.
"Christ," Dean breathed into the phone. "You look like I remember. All fucked out."
"I think it's your turn," Potter replied, just as the door to Dean's motel swung open.
"Jesus Christ, Dean, it's three in the afternoon!" Sam all but screamed, turning on his heels. "Are you.... Oh my god. Are you calling phone sex operators now?"
"I have to go!" Dean said, hanging up abruptly. He grabbed the complimentary tissues of the bedside and wiped the come of his stomach, leaning over to shove them under Sams pillows. "What can I say, Sammy?" He asked, sipping up his pants. "I spare no expenses for my pleasures."
"Go wash your fucking hands," Sam snapped, dropping Styrofoam cartons onto the table. "God, you're disgusting."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
Dean closed the bathroom door, whipping out his phone.
'Sorry about that. My brother walked in.' He texted, setting his phone on the sinks edge as he washed his hands.
It buzzed quietly, vibrating across the Formica surface. 'Hilarious. You own me a picture, Winchester.'
Dean laughed, drying his hands on his pants. 'How about I accidentally sit on my phone next time? Call you soon.'
'Not soon enough.'
Dean did not swoon. Swooning was for girls.
Harry stared at his phone for a moment before flopping back on to the couch, and hiding his face in the bend of his elbow. That hadn't exactly gone as planned. Damned Hermione. He told her he would call, but she kept harping, snatching up his phone and finding Dean. He hadn't realized what she was doing till she'd tossed the ringing phone at him and disappeared into the Floo.
Bloody Hermione.
But at the moment, he was far more upset with himself.
What had he been thinking? Phone sex. With Dean. After weeks.
Not that Dean had been adverse to it, but that was hardly the point. Harry sighed.
He must have looked like such a slut.
But then...at times he felt like one. It wasn't as if there was a laundry list of conquests. Draco had been it for a bit, and that had been a half-assed attempted at a relationship. But it hadn't taken much to realize they weren't much out of the bedroom. The sex though, was fantastic, some of the best Harry ever had. But they hadn't been able to make it, and that was what Harry really wanted.
In a pinch, he and Luna had been known to share a moment, but that was only when they both just needed that kind of touch. Luna said she was waiting for some one, that it wasn't quite time for their paths to cross and Harry knew she was lonely. Harry simply hadn't found any one to connect with, any one who understood him. She'd ease him on to the bed and kiss him, all soft and gentle, and by the end they'd both curl up together smiling, happy and sated.
He'd fucked both the twins, but that was mainly for fun. Double the fun really.
There were those two times with Neville, but they had quickly decided that was a Very Bad Idea.
He wasn't one for one-offs, really. The occasional muggle when it struck his fancy.
And Dean.
So, maybe phone sex wasn't the worse thing he'd ever done, but he wanted Dean to respect him a little.
Well. He'd just have to make it a point to show Dean he wasn't a mindless slut.
"Hermione if you call me one more time I'm going to he----"
"Who's Hermione?" Dean asked, intrigued.
"Dean?"
"Yeah," Dean replied, smiling at Potter's surprise. "I said I'd call."
"I was skeptical," Potter admitted. "Hermione's my friend. I've known her since I was barely eleven. I think I mentioned her once...."
"She sounds like a nag," Dean commented, hunkering down in the drivers seat of the impala. "Rough day?"
"You've no idea," Potter said with a sigh. "My...adoptive family came to visit me. Oh, I didn't tell you I moved."
"Where?" Dean asked, not entirely comfortable not knowing where to find Potter were he to look.
"Louisiana," Harry replied. "It was a bit of an abrupt move. I haven't been here long, but I like it. It's in a little town outside of Baton Rouge."
"Wow, thats one hell of a move," Dean commented. Deep South, Dean thought, where Hunters rarely ventured. "Do you move a lot? What about your shop?"
"S'not my shop, really. I was just helping a friend. Hermione, actually, she's the brains of that operation. My friends thought I needed a bit of a change, and really, I like it here. My flat is a amazing. It over looks the little town, right above a bakery."
Dean smiled, listening to Potter chatter. There was very little inane talk in his life, and he found he kind of liked it. "What do you do for work? Did you find another...uh. Computer place. I can't see you working at Best Buy."
"I should think not," came Potters indignant reply. "No, I don't really work. I do a bit of this and that, when I'm needed, but I haven't found my niche, so to speak. I'm taking a bit of time for myself."
"What do you do for money?" Dean asked, rudely. But seriously, the guy had a bitching apartment, he had to get his cash somewhere.
"Ah," Potter laughed. "I'm a double trust-fund baby. Both my parents and my Godfather left me a ridiculous amount of money when they passed. Both of which I didn't see till I was eighteen. The compound interest alone is enough to live off, but yeah, I'm bloody rich."
Dean blinked, awkward silence ticking on.
Rich.
"Dean?" Potter called out. "Hey. Does it... bother you, that I'm from money?"
"I'm not," Dean blurted. "From money, that is."
"I don't mind," Potter replied. "I didn't have a si...cent to my name till I came of age. It's not like your hitting me up for cash, and I can't see you ever doing so. Not that I would say no, you know, if you were ever in a pinch, or needed bail-money. It's not like I'm keeping you in my loft like a kept-man." There was a pause. "You're a million miles away."
"Yeah," Dean sighed. "I am."
"I could...visit you. If you told me where you were. I could be there, faster then you could imagine."
Dean smiled at Potters stumbling offer. "Sometimes we don't know where we're going till that day. I don't think that'd work."
"But not always," Potter insisted. "You must know some days. And I have...I have a jet. A personal one. I could...I could come see you."
Dean blinked again. He had a plane?
Apparently rich meant rich.
"Maybe," Dean replied evenly.
xXxXxXx
"Are you alright?" Potter asked, as Dean answered his call with a pained groan.
"Rough day," Dean replied, easing himself onto the bed. Sam had just popped his shoulder into the socket, and promptly passed the fuck out on his own bed, dead to the world, drugged to the nines and probably aching every where. Stupid bloody Naga. He hated any kind of water-beast. "Rough client."
"Should I let you sleep?" Potter asked quietly, and Dean smiled at the concern. No one was ever really concerned for him. There was no need to be, he was good at what he did. Still, it as nice to hear.
He kicked of his shoes, and shucked his pants onto the flood, sliding in between the blankets. "No. Talk to me, it's been days." They'd talked almost daily, now, for nearly a month, falling into a strange routine. When they couldn't talk, they'd text, in varying degree's of dirty and inane. He had a very healthy collection of Naked Potter pictures on his phone, listed quite cleverly under 'Hot Waitresses'. Sam would never look there.
Potter's laugh was small, breathy. "I don't know what we're doing, Dean. What is this?"
"It's nice," Dean replied, not wanting to talk about it. "Why talk about it?"
"It is nice," Potter replied. "But...I don't know where we stand. I can't..."
"Can't what?" Dean urged, his voice nearly a whisper. He casted Sam a precautionary glance, finding him still quite asleep.
"I don't sleep around, you know," Potter said, almost randomly. "I know it seems as if I do, but I don't. I like you, Dean, and...I haven't slept with any one since that weekend."
Dean blinked, feeling his stomach drop. "I...we aren't exclusive. You can, you know."
"I don't want to."
"Oh."
"Yes oh," Potter replied. "Let me visit you. I want to see you."
"I don't...this was a bad idea," Dean said quietly, closing his eyes. "I...the way I live, my job...I can't have a..."
"Relationship," Potter finished, with a sigh. "This has nothing to do with me being...you know. A guy?"
"What?" Dean replied. Honestly, that problem hadn't even come to his attention. It had never really been a problem, as he'd never really have anything with Potter. "No, not at all. That doesn't...I mean. I hadn't even given that any thought."
"I don't want to end this," Potter said, evenly. "Even if it will never be more, I like talking to you, and if I never see you in person again, then...then I don't. But...I don't want to scare you off with the big bad 'R' word."
Dean snorted into the phone, glad to be done with that. "Like you could scare me," he said. "For what it's worth....if I could..."
"Thats enough for me," Potter cut him off.
Dean sighed, feeling his stomach clench at the words he was about to stay. "I...I don't want you to miss out on meeting some one...some one who could give you more...just because of me. So...if you find some one..."
"I'll never find a bastard like you though," Potter replied quietly. "What man deserves to be compared to you?"
"A competition they'll never win," Dean replied with a sad laugh. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," Potter replied. "I...have a tendency of getting in over my head. You're right, of course. This is a bad idea."
"But...I can still call you?"
"I'd be mad if you didn't."
Chapter Three
TBC
Author: lifelesslyndsey
Rating: NC 17
Word Count: Uh....I have no idea. I do know that the lemon in this is like 8k all on it's x22 own though.
Warnings: Various spoilers pre season six of supernatural, and all of Harry Potter. Total disregard of time lines, and plot points, and dead characters. Abuse of both Supernatural and Harry Potter fandom to fit my story. Possible Wincest, implied twincest, threesome. Dirty, dirty boy sex, occasions and implications of het sex and past relations with various characters. Uhh...more warnings as we go, I'm sure. This particular chapter has vague spoilers for 5x22 of SPN.
If you click here you can find the masterpost.
Chapter: One
Disclaimer: This ain't my sandbox, I'm just playing in it. These people are not real, and not mine. But I talk to them anyway. What does that say about me? Also, no profit is being made from this, or any of my other fics.
a/n I couldn't find where I saved the beta'd version of this, so for that I apologize.
Sunday afternoon dawned disgustingly bright for a room that seemed so dark the night before. He woke just as Potter did, both un-tangling from their not-cuddle wordlessly, peeling sticky limbs apart with manful winces and the occasional grunt. Dean opened his mouth but Potter shushed him with a weak and sleepy glare. "No talk. Coffee."
Jesus, Dean wanted to kidnap the little fun-size fucker and keep him locked in the trunk of the Impala. Potter was fucking perfect. He ruthlessly squashed those thoughts, mentally salting and burning them for good measure, because that was the kind of shit that got him in trouble, Cassie being the perfect fucking example. And it wasn't like he wasn't still carrying some weird little torch for Lisa, and they hadn't done anything but fuck. Whatever it was he had with this guy, Dean knew it was going to end, and there wasn't shit he could do about it.
Potter pulled on a pair of boxers and tripped his way to the kitchen, leaving Dean to gather his clothes and find the bathroom. He cleaned away the dried and crusted come from his thighs, wincing a little as he flexed his ass. He was feeling it now, of course, not exactly a pain, but an ache he couldn't name. He shrugged, staring at his fucked-out expression in the mirror. Totally fucking worth it. He felt better then he had in a long time.
Potter shoved a steaming mug of coffee into his hands just as he entered the kitchen. "Mornin'," he croaked, giving Dean a sleepy smile.
Dean drank deeply, sighing happily into the warm mug of simple black coffee. "Not a mornin' person, then?"
"Mmhm," Potter grunted, taking another swallow. "Hardly a person at all till I've a cuppa. If it wasn't for work, I'd sleep till noon every day. As it is, it's about three now. Don't you have a...friend, awaiting you?"
"Oh shit, Sammy," Dean groaned, fishing his phone out of the pocket. Seven texts and three voice mails. That had to be a fucking record.
He called Sam, sighing into the receiver as Sam picked up with his usually bitchy 'Where the fuck are you?Do you know what time it is? Do you even know what day it is?'
"Dude. I am a grown ass man. I told you I'd be home when I came home. I texted you yesterday that I was fine. Whatever. What? Yes, of course. Sam. Sammy. Jesus, get laid and stop harping on me, you giant freaking girl. No! Dude. I'm the older brother, it's not your responsibility to check up on me. What? Whatever bitch. Bye. Yes! Bye. Ass." Dean clicked the phone shut with a grin. "He's going to feel like a total dick when I give him his lap top."
"Brother?" Potter asked, eyes wide and far more awake. "I thought he was a business partner slash ex boyfriend."
"Hardly," Dean replied happily, draining his coffee and stealing Potters of the counter. "Although we get that a lot. Why the hell does every one think I'm the...the reciever? Bottom, whatever. Cause' I'm not."
"Really," Potter said, raising a brow, and yanking his coffee back with a playful snap of his teeth. "Thats not what you said last night..."His words tapered off into a stiffling silence.
Dean cringed, "Awkward." He shrugged, giving Potter a grin. "Don't know what to say. Thanks for hooking me up with the computer, and uh, blow jobs, free chocolate and two days worth of awesome sex? S'good way to spend the weekend? You know, my brother, uh...he's not going anywhere for a bit...."Dean says, with a little leer.
"Optimistic little bugger, you are. I'd be inclined to take you up on that offer if I didn't have work. We're training interns. Yay," Potter teased, before his smile faltered a little. "I know you move around a lot, you've said as much, but if you're ever in the area... Look, I kind of like you. You're...a good guy, you know? Kindred spirit, or whatever. And...this...well um.... So, if your ever in the area, hit me up." He paused, freeing his wallet from his back pocket, and handing Dean a card. "And uh...you know, call me. If you ever need help. For anything. Even if your not in the area."
"Are you saying if I called you from Rhode Island needing a tow, you'd show up?" Dean laughed, tucking the card into his pocket.
"Yes," Potter said seriously. "We're two of a kind, Dean. Not to many of us out there. We have to have each others back."
The honesty in the statement made Dean paused, a niggling of guilt flaring in side him at the secrets he was keeping. He use to have some one's back; use to have a partner. Sure Sam was back in his life, but things just weren't...there yet. He realized that Potter would make an excellent hunter, all that jaded stubbornness wrapped up in a veteran package. Instantly he felt guilty for even considering betraying his brother for another Hunter. There would never be any other partner for Dean. It would always be Sam in the passenger seat.
"Well in that case," Dean grabbed a pen off the counter and scrawled his own number on a corner of a piece of new paper. "You can call me. If anything...weird ever happens. No matter how weird, call me, and I'll come."
xXxXxXx
Dean returned to the hotel trying to look like he didn't just get fucked in the ass. He wasn't exactly sure what that looked like, but if any one could read it on his face, it would be Sam. Potter had wrapped the lap top up in the girliest, pinkest, sparkliest bag he could find, slapping on a big, pretty bow to boot. Apparently his business partner had them laying around, or something. Either way, if he was going to go all out, he was going to go all out.
"What the hell is that?" Sam asked, stepping out of the bathroom, tooth brush hanging out of his mouth.
"That is to make up for several missed birthdays, Samantha. And for fighting off the apocalypse with me. You know, the little things," Dean said with a small grin. "Happy, happy, happy, happy birthday, bitch. And many fucking more, thanks to us."
Sam glared, rummaging through the pink crape paper. His hands stilled, tooth brush dropping out of his mouth onto the kitchenette table, splattering minty white across the chipped peach-toned Formica. "Holy shit, you bought me a lap top?"
"I bought you an awesome laptop, actually," Dean reiterated. "You know...uh. I just thought you'd like it."
"Thank you Dean," Sam said honestly, making Dean squirm. He'd really had enough girl-moments for the day, thank you very much.
"Whatever. It's a business expense," Dean said gruffly.
Sam ignored him in favor of firing up the thing. "Dude. The screen-saver is a unicorn. Hey! It's pass coded!"
"I know, right?" Dean replied. "I had to pay extra for that and everything."
"Jerk." Sam frowned, sniffing lightly. "Dude. You smell like jizz and ass."
Dean did not, no matter what Sam would tell you if you asked, blush.
Except for that he totally did.
Shut up.
"Harry, stop sighing, it sounds to much like the Whimtoad mating call for my liking. You'll end up with an infestation in your socks, and I can't be bothered to help you right now," Luna stepped behind the counter, sliding a tray of various truffles into the display case, a neatly orchestrated row of trays following behind her magically. She grabbed them each with dainty, pale hands, fitting them to place. "Have you given any thought to what I said?"
"Where would I go, Luna?" Harry asked, leaning against the counter. He loved his flighty friend dearly, and was glad she'd found him in the states. "I like it here with you." he added fondly.
She slid the last tray of chocolate macroons onto it's shelf, turning to smile at her friend. "I love having you about, Harry, you know that. After Father....Well, coming to California after...well, this was my fresh start. I've found my niche, perhaps it's time you found your own. And you know that no distance is really a hindrance for a Witch or Wizard. You'll see us so much you'll be sick of us." She reached over, taking Harry's hand. "You know I'm right, Harry."
"As you always are, Ms.Lovegood," Harry conceded. Luna had changed since Hogwarts, losing her more peculiar ways. Though she'd mellowed over the years, as war will do to the young, she' still believed the preposterous, and never lost her ever present calm. She would never be an amazingly powerful witch, but she was a formidable Seer, and pretty much the best person Harry had every met. If she hadn't already told him no, he'd have married her in a heartbeat. She was his heterosexual life partner and his best friend, though neither Ron nor Hermione would spite him for it. Luna was exactly what Harry needed to keep him grounded after...well. After everything.
"Don't think I don't know why you haven't left, Mr.Potter." Luna said, counting the money in the drawer. "You can't live your life around The One That Got Away. Often such things need to be followed."
"I'm doing no such thing." Harry leveled Luna with a glare. "And I have no idea how to go about following him. I just...he felt different, Luna. Not like you, or the Weasleys, or Hermione. My magic couldn't get enough. I feel like I need him. Everything felt right."
But Harry new that Luna knew as much without Harry ever having put unmaly words to the notion. After all, she had caught him rather red handed, scrying for the location of a certain hazel eyed hunter. Though he understood that such an act could be viewed as desperate and creepy, he couldn't help but feel like he shouldn't have let Dean walk away so easily. He felt light in a way that he hadn't since the war. But the feeling of relief had faded even before the scent of Dean clinging to his sheets and pillows had.
What Luna didn't know is though it had yet to yield any results, a strange feat unto itself, Harry hadn't given up hope. He just kept his scrying mirror better hidden. Well she might have known, she just didn't say anything. Luna never flaunted her Gift.
"Lies," Luna said simply, turning the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Now, as I was saying. Perhaps you need to start fresh. Somewhere new and exciting."
"If this is your subtle way of suggesting I go San Francisco and join my people, you're doing an awful job," Harry replied, snatching a chocolate biscuit off the counter. "But I wouldn't say no to some sun and sand."
Luna nodded, seemingly content with the answer. "Thats to bad, because I've already found you a flat just outside of Baton Rouge. It's a quiet mixed magical community called Merrydale. And it's old, and the people won't bother you, not there. But it's got lots of witches and wizards your own age, and you need that, Harry."
"Luna, you're younger then me," Harry reminded her. "And why do you bother badgering me when you know what I'll answer."
"Hufflepuffs badger, Harry. I'm a Ravenclaw, I caw, " she said primly, with a nod. "And I only ask because I'd hate to seem presumptuous. I've already connected your fire place to the floo, and sent your things. You'll do well to thank me."
"Yes, thats not presumptuous at all," Harry laughed. "Why there?" There really was no point in arguing, and Harry wouldn't deny that he was pleased to find his sudden, albeit slightly forced move, hassle free. Besides he hadn't been working at Hermione's shop for weeks now, since she brought in the new interns. He felt restless, and bored. Luna had never steered him wrong. His trust in her was explicit.
"As if I'd tell," Luna smiled serenely. "I will tell you that we'll see each other plenty. Now, you go on, it's nearly rush-hour for interstate-floo, and the grates are bound to be crowded."
Leaning slightly, Harry kissed Luna on the cheek. "You're to good to me, Ms.Lovegood."
"You're absolutely right, Mr.Potter."
"Whats wrong with you?" Sam asked abruptly, dropping his fork with a clatter. "You've been moping for like weeks now."
"Nothings wrong with me," Dean replied evenly, biting into his greasy, delicious Philly cheese stake. He took his sweet-ass time chewing. "And I'm not moping."
"You are," Sam argued. "What the hell is up with you? I thought this was what you wanted? We're back to plain-old-hunting. Bobby's, Cas has managed to learn a modicum of social interaction. Oh, and the Apocalypse has been averted with little destruction and death. I'd say shit's pretty good right now. And for some fucking reason, you're moping"
Dean set his sandwich down, suddenly not hungry. "I said I was fine." He wasn't. "I'm not moping." He was. For six weeks now. Since that poltergeist in Oregon.
Since Potter.
Sam sighed, his face crumpling in a way that promised Talking with a capital T. "You are, Dean, and I hate seeing you like this. We're back to salt-and-burns, we're together, just like you wanted. I don't know what else you want." He swallowed, looked away. "Is it...do you want to give up hunting? Go...find Lisa...like you planned."
"No!" Dean snapped. "God no. I...Really, Sam. I'm happy; I'm glad things are back to normal. Huntin' is my life, and I'd never give it up, not for nothing. And having you right there with me, it makes it worth it. I got everything I need. Got you, Bobby, Cas. S'my family, right there. I'm not unhappy, okay? Why would you even think I'd wanna find Lisa?"
Sam's uncomfortable expression deepened, and he fiddled with the salt shaker. "Uh. You're not....you know. Hooking up. Like, at all. For like a month and a half."
"Keeping track?"
"I haven't had to sleep in the car for six weeks. It's pretty easy to keep track."
Dean shredded the wrapper to his straw, glancing around the tiny diner. "Maybe I'm just sick of it. Dad always said I'd grow outta it, and maybe I finally have."
Dean watched in horror as Sam took in a deep breath, and folded one hand into the other on the table. Oh no. That was the look Sam got when he was preparing to bust out the big guns, Sam was about to play his wild-card. His expression screamed I know something, and it could be anything, so just fucking admit it already.
"Did you meet some one in Oregon?"
Oh dear God.
Anything but that.
Couldn't he just accuse Dean of having crabs again? Dean would have preferred that.
"Don't you think you would have noticed?" Dean dissembled. "When the hell would I have met some one?"
"You were gone for an entire weekend," Sam argued. "In all my years I've seen you scamming chicks at bars, never once have you stayed the night. Awkward mornings just aren't your style. The only chick I've ever heard you spent more then a night with was Lisa, and you've been hung up on her for a while. Oregon was six weeks ago, you stopped fucking around six weeks ago. You started moping six weeks ago. I think you met some one."
"I didn't meet any one."
"Do you miss them, is that it?" Sam pressed. "We can go back...."
"No!" Dean snapped. "No...I...okay. I did meet some one; maybe I do miss them, or the idea of them, or whatever. But...it's...it's not like it matters? I mean, I tried that, didn't I? With Cassie, and look how that turned out? I can't have....even if I wanted one, I mean....I can't have a relationship. Not that I want one."
"It's okay to want that," Sam said, all soft and girly and Dean wanted to punch him in the neck. "It's normal. I mean, you're...uh. Getting up there in years..."
"I am not old!"
"You're almost thirty."
"I'm twenty-eight!"
"Two years, and you'll be in your thirties."
"Shut up!" Dean cried. "I'm not old. And...we're not normal. We don't get to be normal. I'll never find someone who will understand what it is I do, and if I do...just...look at Ellen, Ash and Jo. They're all dead. Do I want to bring a family into this? No. I got my family. I got you, Bobby and Cas. And...I'm okay with that. So shut up about this."
"Dean---"
"Shut up. God. Now I need a beer."
"It's twelve o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon."
"You drive me to drinking, Sam. How does that make you feel? Bitch."
“.....jerk.”
"Call him, Harry."
"I can't."
"You can. What you mean is you won't."
"I can't Hermione!" Harry huffed. "It's been to long. It'll seem weird now."
"Merlin, your stupid," she sighed. It sounded exactly like it had when they were teenagers. Boys are so dumb. "You miss him. Just call him."
They were seated in the breakfast nook of his new Merrydale apartment, tearing at fresh scones Harry had bought from the bakery below. He loved this place. It felt more like home then anything had before, and he loved Luna a little more for finding it. "It's been to long. I'll look stupid."
"It's only going to get longer," Hermione said reasonably. "It's been what? Month and a half? You're miserable. You miss him."
"Of course I do," Harry snapped. "He was bloody perfect, wasn't he? Oh except that part where he was a hunter!"
"He doesn't have to know yet. He can get to know you," she argued, pouring him a new cup of tea. "Just call him."
"What would I say?" Harry asked, turning to stare out the window. He over looked the center of town, with all it's bustling shops. Half of them were invisible to the passing muggles, selling squawking three-headed birds, and jars full of beetle wings. Muggle and Wizard, merged seamlessly along the cobble stone. It was a pretty picture.
"Hello, for starters," Hermione huffed. "Harry Potter. You might remember me? We spent a weekend sullying every available surface in my apartment."
"I should call him and talk about the sex we had?" Harry asked, bewildered. That seemed a little forward, even for his forward-thinking friend.
Hermione smiled, her nose wrinkling. "Well no, not entirely, but if you happen to bring it up, don't be shy. But from what you've told me, you two had much more in common then sexual compatibility."
"I'll...I'll think about it, okay?" He asked, leaning down to pick scoop up his python, Cringe, into his arms."I do miss him."
"I know you do," Hermione said gently. "He must have been something special."
"He just....he felt right."
Dean was half asleep on his bed when his phone rang, vibrating in his pants. He grumbled into his pillow before fishing it out of his pocket.
"Lo'?"
"Dean? Oh bugger," a surprisingly familiar voice said from the other end. "I've woken you up. I've no idea where you are, or what time it is. Shall I call back later?"
"Is everything okay? Are you okay?" Dean sat up, surprised and still sleep fuzzy.
"What?" Potter said from the other end. "Everything is quite well, actually. Um..."
Breathing out, Dean relaxed back on the bed. "Oh good. I just thought, cause' I told you to call if...yeah. Um."
"I didn't mean to call you!" Potter blurted, following the admission with a disgusted groan. "I sat on my phone. This is an arse call. I miss you, though. I wanted to call...but it's been weeks...and I don't know the protocol here."
Laughing lightly, Dean scratched his stomach absently, trying to tamp down the inexplicable tingling stupid feelings he hadn't had since he was a teenager trying to just talk to girls without feelings stupid. "Miss me huh?"
"I may change my mind," Potter informed him. "Depending on your reaction to said statement."
"I'm glad you called," Dean admitted, glad that Sam was on a food run. "Glad you sat on your phone, at any rate. You should do it more often."
Harry's sigh was small but audible crackling sharply through the receiver. "Is it very late? Where you are? I hadn't meant to wake you. Honestly, I hadn't given it any thought. I had been hanging up when I heard you, but I thought it would be very rude as you'd already answered."
"Why would you hang up?" Dean asked, trying not to sound hurt. He rolled onto his side, phone mashed between his face and the pillow, and palmed his half-hearted erection, adjusting it awkwardly.
"Well," Potter said at length. "How many one-offs do you call, a month later?"
Oh. "None. But I don't share my number with any of them either," Dean replied. The implication was loud and clear, and Potter laughed.
"I'm special, am I?" He teased. "Where are you?"
".....Sweetwater, Texas. Hotter'n hell here." Dean replied, kicking off his boots. They landed with two loud thunks at the end of his bed.
Potter paused again, and then his voice was sly. "Hot, you say?"
"Like...hundred-and-one, or something," Dean replied absently, working a toe into his socks and peeling them off too. "Sweating my balls off."
There was a rustle of something over the phone line, before Potter said quietly. "What are you wearing?"
And the words went straight to Deans dick.
He blinked, eyes flickering to the door. Sam had only just left. He'd have time, he thought. He should be talking to Potter though, like a person. Not a mindless slut.
Eh. Fuck it, Dean thought.
He was a mindless slut.
"Too much," he said, un-zipping his pants slowly, loud enough to be heard over the phone.
"Leave em' on," Potter nearly growled. "Take your dick out."
"Fuck yes," Dean replied eagerly. "Wait. Wait, if I do this, you have to do it to."
"Already am," Potter replied hotly. "Are you hard? Are you already hard for me?"
"Morning wood," Dean said, reaching for his cock. "Fuckin' voice, doesn't help."
"No touching," Potter replied, his voice suddenly business like. "Don't touch yourself till' I say."
"What?" Dean groaned, rolling onto his back. "I think this would be more fun if I ----"
"No. Do you think about that weekend, Dean? How I sucked you off in my kitchen, came all over your legs?"
"Ye...yeah. You're all I can fuckin' think about. Driving me crazy," Dean admitted, and swore at himself. It wasn't as if it wasn't true, but he didn't need to fucking say it.
Harry chuckled, dark and dirty. "When your with a woman, do you think about how much you liked being rough with me? How much you liked how I was small enough to man handle, but hard enough to take it?"
"I love that," Dean whispered. "God I love that. Can't do that with a chick."
"Do you touch yourself Dean? God, you're such a natural bottom, you took it like a champ. I sank right into you. Do you stick your fingers up your arse when you touch yourself? Think about me?"
"Nn..no. I can't," Dean said, one hand holding the phone, the other curling around the head board.
"You should. I'd...I think about you doing that...watching you," Harry replied, whimpering a little. "Didn't you like it? Like how I felt Winchester, balls deep in your arse?"
"God I loved it," Dean groaned. "Shit, I'm so fucking hard. Keep talking."
"God, I can't stop thinking about you, though I know I should. Just a one off, right? But I can't stop thinking about it, and us, and I do touch myself. I shove my fingers up my arse and imagine it's you. Bloody hell, I come so hard."
"God, fuck. You want me to fuck you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement and Dean groaned it. "I want to fuck you. Jesus, I want to shove you down and spread you open..."
"Yes, yes, oh thats it. Do you...Do you know how much I love sucking that pretty cock of yours. Love it, love it."
"I...I want to fuck your mouth," Dean moaned. "God I have to touch myself. Please...." Begging. He was begging. Again.
"God, do it, yes. Tell me more. Would you come on my face?"
His palm was hot, but his cock was hotter, and he groaned loudly, relief and pleasure drowning him. "I'd...I'd grab you by your hair, work..." he swallowed, swiping his thumb over his cock. "Work my cock down your throat till you choked. Come, come all over your face, drip down your neck and mouth. You'd...you'd lick it up, just like you did. Jesus...oh fuck, I'm nnnngh." He came, come spraying up across his chest and shirt, dick spasming in his hand.
"Bloody...fucking...hell. Ohhh," Potter moaned, and Dean wished he could see it, watch Potter huffing, his cock pouring come across his stomach.
"Send..." he swallowed. "Send me a picture of what you look like right now."
"I've come in my belly button," Potter replied with a laugh. "And my dicks not even hard; it's very unattractive."
"Send it anyways."
"Demanding sod."
His phone pinged, and he opened it with a grin and a groan. There was Potter, spread out on his chic little couch, pants around his thighs, one hand cupping his cock shyly. He was shirt-less, come icing his stomach like a fucking birthday cake. There was a clean line wiped through it, and Potter was sucking his finger into his mouth, gazing coyly at the camera. It was almost comical, except it was...well it was fucking hot.
"Christ," Dean breathed into the phone. "You look like I remember. All fucked out."
"I think it's your turn," Potter replied, just as the door to Dean's motel swung open.
"Jesus Christ, Dean, it's three in the afternoon!" Sam all but screamed, turning on his heels. "Are you.... Oh my god. Are you calling phone sex operators now?"
"I have to go!" Dean said, hanging up abruptly. He grabbed the complimentary tissues of the bedside and wiped the come of his stomach, leaning over to shove them under Sams pillows. "What can I say, Sammy?" He asked, sipping up his pants. "I spare no expenses for my pleasures."
"Go wash your fucking hands," Sam snapped, dropping Styrofoam cartons onto the table. "God, you're disgusting."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
Dean closed the bathroom door, whipping out his phone.
'Sorry about that. My brother walked in.' He texted, setting his phone on the sinks edge as he washed his hands.
It buzzed quietly, vibrating across the Formica surface. 'Hilarious. You own me a picture, Winchester.'
Dean laughed, drying his hands on his pants. 'How about I accidentally sit on my phone next time? Call you soon.'
'Not soon enough.'
Dean did not swoon. Swooning was for girls.
Harry stared at his phone for a moment before flopping back on to the couch, and hiding his face in the bend of his elbow. That hadn't exactly gone as planned. Damned Hermione. He told her he would call, but she kept harping, snatching up his phone and finding Dean. He hadn't realized what she was doing till she'd tossed the ringing phone at him and disappeared into the Floo.
Bloody Hermione.
But at the moment, he was far more upset with himself.
What had he been thinking? Phone sex. With Dean. After weeks.
Not that Dean had been adverse to it, but that was hardly the point. Harry sighed.
He must have looked like such a slut.
But then...at times he felt like one. It wasn't as if there was a laundry list of conquests. Draco had been it for a bit, and that had been a half-assed attempted at a relationship. But it hadn't taken much to realize they weren't much out of the bedroom. The sex though, was fantastic, some of the best Harry ever had. But they hadn't been able to make it, and that was what Harry really wanted.
In a pinch, he and Luna had been known to share a moment, but that was only when they both just needed that kind of touch. Luna said she was waiting for some one, that it wasn't quite time for their paths to cross and Harry knew she was lonely. Harry simply hadn't found any one to connect with, any one who understood him. She'd ease him on to the bed and kiss him, all soft and gentle, and by the end they'd both curl up together smiling, happy and sated.
He'd fucked both the twins, but that was mainly for fun. Double the fun really.
There were those two times with Neville, but they had quickly decided that was a Very Bad Idea.
He wasn't one for one-offs, really. The occasional muggle when it struck his fancy.
And Dean.
So, maybe phone sex wasn't the worse thing he'd ever done, but he wanted Dean to respect him a little.
Well. He'd just have to make it a point to show Dean he wasn't a mindless slut.
"Hermione if you call me one more time I'm going to he----"
"Who's Hermione?" Dean asked, intrigued.
"Dean?"
"Yeah," Dean replied, smiling at Potter's surprise. "I said I'd call."
"I was skeptical," Potter admitted. "Hermione's my friend. I've known her since I was barely eleven. I think I mentioned her once...."
"She sounds like a nag," Dean commented, hunkering down in the drivers seat of the impala. "Rough day?"
"You've no idea," Potter said with a sigh. "My...adoptive family came to visit me. Oh, I didn't tell you I moved."
"Where?" Dean asked, not entirely comfortable not knowing where to find Potter were he to look.
"Louisiana," Harry replied. "It was a bit of an abrupt move. I haven't been here long, but I like it. It's in a little town outside of Baton Rouge."
"Wow, thats one hell of a move," Dean commented. Deep South, Dean thought, where Hunters rarely ventured. "Do you move a lot? What about your shop?"
"S'not my shop, really. I was just helping a friend. Hermione, actually, she's the brains of that operation. My friends thought I needed a bit of a change, and really, I like it here. My flat is a amazing. It over looks the little town, right above a bakery."
Dean smiled, listening to Potter chatter. There was very little inane talk in his life, and he found he kind of liked it. "What do you do for work? Did you find another...uh. Computer place. I can't see you working at Best Buy."
"I should think not," came Potters indignant reply. "No, I don't really work. I do a bit of this and that, when I'm needed, but I haven't found my niche, so to speak. I'm taking a bit of time for myself."
"What do you do for money?" Dean asked, rudely. But seriously, the guy had a bitching apartment, he had to get his cash somewhere.
"Ah," Potter laughed. "I'm a double trust-fund baby. Both my parents and my Godfather left me a ridiculous amount of money when they passed. Both of which I didn't see till I was eighteen. The compound interest alone is enough to live off, but yeah, I'm bloody rich."
Dean blinked, awkward silence ticking on.
Rich.
"Dean?" Potter called out. "Hey. Does it... bother you, that I'm from money?"
"I'm not," Dean blurted. "From money, that is."
"I don't mind," Potter replied. "I didn't have a si...cent to my name till I came of age. It's not like your hitting me up for cash, and I can't see you ever doing so. Not that I would say no, you know, if you were ever in a pinch, or needed bail-money. It's not like I'm keeping you in my loft like a kept-man." There was a pause. "You're a million miles away."
"Yeah," Dean sighed. "I am."
"I could...visit you. If you told me where you were. I could be there, faster then you could imagine."
Dean smiled at Potters stumbling offer. "Sometimes we don't know where we're going till that day. I don't think that'd work."
"But not always," Potter insisted. "You must know some days. And I have...I have a jet. A personal one. I could...I could come see you."
Dean blinked again. He had a plane?
Apparently rich meant rich.
"Maybe," Dean replied evenly.
xXxXxXx
"Are you alright?" Potter asked, as Dean answered his call with a pained groan.
"Rough day," Dean replied, easing himself onto the bed. Sam had just popped his shoulder into the socket, and promptly passed the fuck out on his own bed, dead to the world, drugged to the nines and probably aching every where. Stupid bloody Naga. He hated any kind of water-beast. "Rough client."
"Should I let you sleep?" Potter asked quietly, and Dean smiled at the concern. No one was ever really concerned for him. There was no need to be, he was good at what he did. Still, it as nice to hear.
He kicked of his shoes, and shucked his pants onto the flood, sliding in between the blankets. "No. Talk to me, it's been days." They'd talked almost daily, now, for nearly a month, falling into a strange routine. When they couldn't talk, they'd text, in varying degree's of dirty and inane. He had a very healthy collection of Naked Potter pictures on his phone, listed quite cleverly under 'Hot Waitresses'. Sam would never look there.
Potter's laugh was small, breathy. "I don't know what we're doing, Dean. What is this?"
"It's nice," Dean replied, not wanting to talk about it. "Why talk about it?"
"It is nice," Potter replied. "But...I don't know where we stand. I can't..."
"Can't what?" Dean urged, his voice nearly a whisper. He casted Sam a precautionary glance, finding him still quite asleep.
"I don't sleep around, you know," Potter said, almost randomly. "I know it seems as if I do, but I don't. I like you, Dean, and...I haven't slept with any one since that weekend."
Dean blinked, feeling his stomach drop. "I...we aren't exclusive. You can, you know."
"I don't want to."
"Oh."
"Yes oh," Potter replied. "Let me visit you. I want to see you."
"I don't...this was a bad idea," Dean said quietly, closing his eyes. "I...the way I live, my job...I can't have a..."
"Relationship," Potter finished, with a sigh. "This has nothing to do with me being...you know. A guy?"
"What?" Dean replied. Honestly, that problem hadn't even come to his attention. It had never really been a problem, as he'd never really have anything with Potter. "No, not at all. That doesn't...I mean. I hadn't even given that any thought."
"I don't want to end this," Potter said, evenly. "Even if it will never be more, I like talking to you, and if I never see you in person again, then...then I don't. But...I don't want to scare you off with the big bad 'R' word."
Dean snorted into the phone, glad to be done with that. "Like you could scare me," he said. "For what it's worth....if I could..."
"Thats enough for me," Potter cut him off.
Dean sighed, feeling his stomach clench at the words he was about to stay. "I...I don't want you to miss out on meeting some one...some one who could give you more...just because of me. So...if you find some one..."
"I'll never find a bastard like you though," Potter replied quietly. "What man deserves to be compared to you?"
"A competition they'll never win," Dean replied with a sad laugh. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," Potter replied. "I...have a tendency of getting in over my head. You're right, of course. This is a bad idea."
"But...I can still call you?"
"I'd be mad if you didn't."
Chapter Three
TBC