Following The Lead, Andy/Henriksen, R
For damerel who has done me a couple of favours of late and was first in (among a few kind, foolish people, LOL) encouraging me in this, completely self indulgent pairing.
Oh dear.
Title: Following the Lead
Pairing: Andy/Henriksen
Rating: R
Warnings: Cursing. Blow Jobs. Ear cuffs! This bit always feel like more of an advertisement than anything else. Hmm.
Summary: Victor Henriksen loses the Winchesters. When he looks into their associates, he gets more than he bargained for. Set during S2.
Thanks to embroiderama for the beta help.
These characters do not belong to me.
Ghosts. That’s what the Winchesters were. They were nothing, nowhere, vanished with the breeze. Much as it killed Victor to admit it, made him curse their name even more, he had no leads. He had no idea where they’d gone.
He wouldn’t be beaten. He’d find those murderers, and he’d make them pay.
Victor did what any self respecting agent would do. He thought around the problem and researched the Winchesters even further. Retraced their most recent steps. Somebody would crack. Somebody would talk. Somebody would help him find them.
Although it seemed the Winchesters made people surprisingly mute. Officer Ballard wouldn’t speak, would only say they escaped custody and she didn't sound damn sorry about it either.
Victor started to look through cases in areas they’d passed through. Gathering more evidence against them. Another grave robbery here, another credit card fraud there.
His file on them was as thick as his leads were thin.
Then Victor came across a report of a shooting. Three officers, all saying they witnessed a guy - Ansem Weems - off himself. All using the exact same words in their report. That was the strange part; the exact same words. Usually people got confused, a red sweater became orange, shoulder length hair became ass length. Words got mixed up. Nobody remembered things perfectly.
Except these three. An Andy Gallagher was spotted at the scene, with two guys - one suspiciously tall.
Bingo. Victor had a lead.
Andy was easy enough to find, a few choice questions and people directed him to a couple of bars where Andy was likely to be. Victor scanned the crowd, bringing up the picture he’d seen in the file.
There he was at a table by the bar, sipping a drink, laughing at something the guy with him was saying. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Victor would change that. He went over.
In person, Andy was shorter than he’d expected. His hair was more unruly. His face, when he turned to Victor and grinned, was the same. He was young, younger than Victor anyway. Victor scanned Andy, top to toe. He didn’t look like any kind of threat. This was going to be easy.
“Can I help you, man?”
“Sure. I’m Victor Henriksen. I’m an FBI Agent. I need to ask you a few questions.” Victor cocked his head toward the other guy. He soon made himself scarce. “I believe you know these men?” Victor drew a photo out of his pocket.
Andy studied it for a moment. His hand took the photo, brushing Victor’s as he took it. Victor ignored the brief shiver the contact mysteriously caused. “Nah man, I don’t know these guys.” He blinked a couple times too fast when he gave the picture back. He was lying.
“I think you do,” Victor said. “I’m going to have to take you for questioning.”
“I don‘t,” Andy said, deepening his voice, “know these guys. I don’t think you have any more questions to ask me today.”
Victor decided that Andy was right. If he said he didn’t know the guys, he didn’t. He thanked him and left.
The next day, Victor was cursing Andy Gallagher’s name. Why had he left the bar without pressing further? Why had he taken his words at face value? Lying first off only confirmed Victor’s suspicions. He must be losing it, to have given up so easily.
Victor cornered Andy as he exited his van, standing too close, using his height to intimidate. “I don’t know how you got away last night, but I know you know the Winchesters. I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Look, chill dude.” Andy waved his hand. Flattened it somewhere near the Barbarian Queen’s feet. Ridiculous van. Andy was relaxed, but not stoned. This must be his permanent state; chilled. Wandering from his van to a bar, getting stoned and having a drink.
Victor didn’t get people like Andy. Surely they needed purpose? Needed to do something?
Why couldn’t Victor enjoy a stupid painting on the side of a van?
Andy grinned. The same mildly irritating, nothing bothers me grin. “I don’t know the Winchesters. You have no questions for me. I think you need to go relax man. Do whatever it is you do when you have time off.”
Suddenly, Victor really wanted a drink.
Or several, it turned out. Victor was buzzed. He hadn’t been buzzed in... man, it wasn’t often Victor got this buzzed. It was kinda nice. Victor should drink more often, let the heat slide down his throat and to his belly. Let his mind remember ex-wife number two’s legs, number three’s ass. Not feel bad about leaving them, ‘cause another whiskey, that’d make it go away. Definitely.
Two more. Victor wanted a change. Someone to talk to. This bar was too quiet. He didn’t want to sit here by himself. He stumbled out, sobering up a little as he walked in the cold air. He’d have to change that.
In the window of a bar sat Andy, smiling and laughing. Andy looking like he only needed that beer to be happy. Maybe Andy did.
Andy, Victor had somehow failed to notice, was hot. He stared a little too long, taking in how Andy’s hair curled over his ears, how his eyes twinkled as he spoke.
Victor should have walked away, probably would have, if Andy hadn’t glanced out the window and seen him. Andy shook his head and headed toward the door. Victor walked toward the alley by the bar, confident Andy would follow. Maybe Andy would let him question him.
“More questions? Look man, you should,” Victor turned and Andy’s sentence took a turn with it, “you should drink more often!” Andy laughed.
“Drink,” Victor said, “is good.“ He didn’t want to ask Andy any questions. Well, maybe only the one.
Andy laughed and stepped closer. “You’re wasted.”
“So are you,” Victor said, and it was the truth. Andy was buzzed too. Andy, who somehow managed to escape him. Andy, whose ear Victor wanted to lick. Victor bit his lip to stop himself. Andy stepped closer, and Victor refused to step back.
Later, he could have sworn he didn’t take a step forward, didn’t lean down toward Andy’s face, didn’t pause and let Andy close the final gap. Victor tried not to notice how soft Andy’s lips were, how he tasted of beer and smelled of weed.
It was sloppy, they slid off each other, and Victor had to reach down, hold the back of Andy’s head, and kiss him properly. He kissed him, hoping to find out what made Andy tick. He wondered if he kissed him enough, if he stopped to breathe Andy in, to lick his ear, to bite next to his cuff, if all those things would solve the case, would help Victor work out how to be like Andy. How not to care.
Andy’s fingers working their way between the buttons of Victor’s shirt, helped him not to care. “Not here,” Victor mumbled. Not standing. He wanted to lie over him.
“My van’s fifty feet away,” Andy said.
Victor made a face. He wasn’t fucking in a van. “No.”
“Yes,” Andy said, in a deep voice, “it’s close. My van’s a good idea.”
“The van it is!” Victor said. He followed Andy toward it, even though he didn’t want to.
The inside was even worse than Victor imagined. There was a glitter ball in it that he knocked his head on as Andy’s hands propelled him inside. A couple of books jabbed into Victor’s side and he picked them up and threw them through - God, a raffia looking curtain - toward the front. Andy quickly shrugged off his coat and threw it after them.
Victor stopped noticing what was in the van when Andy straddled his hips and started to work on his belt. When Andy freed his cock and took it in his hand, Victor could have been anywhere. He could have been on a beach, or on the fucking moon, he wouldn’t have known, he’d only have known tight white hands sliding over his cock, making noises come out of Victor’s mouth that he wouldn’t admit to later. He’d only have known Andy’s mouth taking him all in, his tongue licking the tip when he drew back.
“More,” Victor said, his voice harsh, ragged, unrecognizable to his own ears. Andy started to suck, and Victor flattened his hands against the seat, dug his fingers into the pile to stop from coming too soon, ‘cause this was too good, this wet heat, this fire in his groin and his belly. He couldn’t stop himself, he couldn’t wait.
He heard his own voice begging Andy to, “drink it, please.”
Andy wiped his mouth with his thumb and grinned. “You don’t need to do anything back.” He mumbled it, shy and uncertain, sagging back against the side of the van. It was cramped. There wasn’t much of Victor that wasn’t touching Andy. Victor gazed down to where a bulge pressed what must have been damn uncomfortably against Andy’s jeans.
He wondered what it would take to make this hippy philosophizing no worries guy scream out his name and beg? Pleasure could be like agony. Victor wanted to show that to Andy.
He shuffled, a sequence of annoying moves that involved elbows and knees in uncomfortable places, until Andy was lying flat and Victor was wriggling down his body. Andy’s breath hissed out as the zip buzzed down; his cock was hard, blood red and curving toward his belly. Victor liked his own cock, much as any man did, but he‘d never thought they could be beautiful. Andy‘s was. Victor took a preliminary swipe with his tongue.
Then paused a really long time. Paused until Andy said, “Dude, don’t make me-“
Victor took him all in his mouth this time, far as he could, reached a hand and cupped his balls. “Oh yeah, man,” Andy began.
Then Victor stopped. He carried on stop, start, lick, suck, stop, until Andy was murmuring over and over, “You fucker stop it, blow me, you fucker, stop it, please....” Finally Victor enveloped him, licked and sucked and the cry from Andy’s mouth when it came was better than any frickin’ confession or congratulation or any of the other things Victor spent hours working for.
He should have gotten up and left but Andy pulled him up, wriggled so that Victor’s head was next to his. Somehow, Victor slept.
He woke to find Andy still asleep and to stiff joints. He had no idea how Andy lived like this, cramped in the van. He had no idea how Andy did lots of things, no idea how this could make Andy happy. Maybe the answer was in one of the books that lay discarded on the floor. Maybe the answer was something Victor would never understand.
He understood one thing. He was certain Andy knew the Winchesters. Victor saw the discarded coat. Andy had a cell. If he knew Sam and Dean, their numbers might be in that. Victor wriggled away from Andy, trying not to make any noise. The cell was only a few feet away. He could reach if he stretched.
“You don’t want to look in there.” The same low tone of voice. Victor’s hand froze in the air. He suddenly didn’t want to see the cell.
Something strange was going on.
“What’s... what the hell is this?” Victor sat back on his heels. “You know the Winchesters don’t you? Just tell me.”
Andy shook his head. “You don’t wanna hear it man.” He sounded sad. He propped himself up on his elbows. His face stiffened into a serious expression Victor hadn‘t seen so far. “Okay. Fine. I’ll tell you. I know them, sure. They’re good guys. Real good. You won’t see it. I’m sure they’ve done shit that looks odd to you.” Victor opened his mouth to speak. Andy raised his hand. “Dude, you push it, you’ll remember none of this.” He didn’t sound like he was joking. “You won’t believe me. Even if I make you believe me, for now, you’ll go after them again.” Andy shook his head. “But you’re a good guy too. Someday, you’ll see what they are.”
“They’ve taken you in.” Victor said. “How did they do that?”
Andy gave a small sad smile. “It’s a shame. You’d like Dean, if you... you’d like him.” He waved his hand. “You’d better go.”
It didn’t feel like an order, but Victor obeyed it anyway. When he got to the door Andy said a weird thing. He said, “I didn’t make you. You wanted to.”
Of course he did. Victor never did any shit he didn’t want. Except divorce that one time.
Andy Gallagher was a dead end. Onto the next lead.
**
Feedback is love as I fear this is possibly the most self indulgent, only me wants this, fic ever. Oh well.
**
Oh dear.
Title: Following the Lead
Pairing: Andy/Henriksen
Rating: R
Warnings: Cursing. Blow Jobs. Ear cuffs! This bit always feel like more of an advertisement than anything else. Hmm.
Summary: Victor Henriksen loses the Winchesters. When he looks into their associates, he gets more than he bargained for. Set during S2.
Thanks to embroiderama for the beta help.
These characters do not belong to me.
Ghosts. That’s what the Winchesters were. They were nothing, nowhere, vanished with the breeze. Much as it killed Victor to admit it, made him curse their name even more, he had no leads. He had no idea where they’d gone.
He wouldn’t be beaten. He’d find those murderers, and he’d make them pay.
Victor did what any self respecting agent would do. He thought around the problem and researched the Winchesters even further. Retraced their most recent steps. Somebody would crack. Somebody would talk. Somebody would help him find them.
Although it seemed the Winchesters made people surprisingly mute. Officer Ballard wouldn’t speak, would only say they escaped custody and she didn't sound damn sorry about it either.
Victor started to look through cases in areas they’d passed through. Gathering more evidence against them. Another grave robbery here, another credit card fraud there.
His file on them was as thick as his leads were thin.
Then Victor came across a report of a shooting. Three officers, all saying they witnessed a guy - Ansem Weems - off himself. All using the exact same words in their report. That was the strange part; the exact same words. Usually people got confused, a red sweater became orange, shoulder length hair became ass length. Words got mixed up. Nobody remembered things perfectly.
Except these three. An Andy Gallagher was spotted at the scene, with two guys - one suspiciously tall.
Bingo. Victor had a lead.
Andy was easy enough to find, a few choice questions and people directed him to a couple of bars where Andy was likely to be. Victor scanned the crowd, bringing up the picture he’d seen in the file.
There he was at a table by the bar, sipping a drink, laughing at something the guy with him was saying. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. Victor would change that. He went over.
In person, Andy was shorter than he’d expected. His hair was more unruly. His face, when he turned to Victor and grinned, was the same. He was young, younger than Victor anyway. Victor scanned Andy, top to toe. He didn’t look like any kind of threat. This was going to be easy.
“Can I help you, man?”
“Sure. I’m Victor Henriksen. I’m an FBI Agent. I need to ask you a few questions.” Victor cocked his head toward the other guy. He soon made himself scarce. “I believe you know these men?” Victor drew a photo out of his pocket.
Andy studied it for a moment. His hand took the photo, brushing Victor’s as he took it. Victor ignored the brief shiver the contact mysteriously caused. “Nah man, I don’t know these guys.” He blinked a couple times too fast when he gave the picture back. He was lying.
“I think you do,” Victor said. “I’m going to have to take you for questioning.”
“I don‘t,” Andy said, deepening his voice, “know these guys. I don’t think you have any more questions to ask me today.”
Victor decided that Andy was right. If he said he didn’t know the guys, he didn’t. He thanked him and left.
The next day, Victor was cursing Andy Gallagher’s name. Why had he left the bar without pressing further? Why had he taken his words at face value? Lying first off only confirmed Victor’s suspicions. He must be losing it, to have given up so easily.
Victor cornered Andy as he exited his van, standing too close, using his height to intimidate. “I don’t know how you got away last night, but I know you know the Winchesters. I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Look, chill dude.” Andy waved his hand. Flattened it somewhere near the Barbarian Queen’s feet. Ridiculous van. Andy was relaxed, but not stoned. This must be his permanent state; chilled. Wandering from his van to a bar, getting stoned and having a drink.
Victor didn’t get people like Andy. Surely they needed purpose? Needed to do something?
Why couldn’t Victor enjoy a stupid painting on the side of a van?
Andy grinned. The same mildly irritating, nothing bothers me grin. “I don’t know the Winchesters. You have no questions for me. I think you need to go relax man. Do whatever it is you do when you have time off.”
Suddenly, Victor really wanted a drink.
Or several, it turned out. Victor was buzzed. He hadn’t been buzzed in... man, it wasn’t often Victor got this buzzed. It was kinda nice. Victor should drink more often, let the heat slide down his throat and to his belly. Let his mind remember ex-wife number two’s legs, number three’s ass. Not feel bad about leaving them, ‘cause another whiskey, that’d make it go away. Definitely.
Two more. Victor wanted a change. Someone to talk to. This bar was too quiet. He didn’t want to sit here by himself. He stumbled out, sobering up a little as he walked in the cold air. He’d have to change that.
In the window of a bar sat Andy, smiling and laughing. Andy looking like he only needed that beer to be happy. Maybe Andy did.
Andy, Victor had somehow failed to notice, was hot. He stared a little too long, taking in how Andy’s hair curled over his ears, how his eyes twinkled as he spoke.
Victor should have walked away, probably would have, if Andy hadn’t glanced out the window and seen him. Andy shook his head and headed toward the door. Victor walked toward the alley by the bar, confident Andy would follow. Maybe Andy would let him question him.
“More questions? Look man, you should,” Victor turned and Andy’s sentence took a turn with it, “you should drink more often!” Andy laughed.
“Drink,” Victor said, “is good.“ He didn’t want to ask Andy any questions. Well, maybe only the one.
Andy laughed and stepped closer. “You’re wasted.”
“So are you,” Victor said, and it was the truth. Andy was buzzed too. Andy, who somehow managed to escape him. Andy, whose ear Victor wanted to lick. Victor bit his lip to stop himself. Andy stepped closer, and Victor refused to step back.
Later, he could have sworn he didn’t take a step forward, didn’t lean down toward Andy’s face, didn’t pause and let Andy close the final gap. Victor tried not to notice how soft Andy’s lips were, how he tasted of beer and smelled of weed.
It was sloppy, they slid off each other, and Victor had to reach down, hold the back of Andy’s head, and kiss him properly. He kissed him, hoping to find out what made Andy tick. He wondered if he kissed him enough, if he stopped to breathe Andy in, to lick his ear, to bite next to his cuff, if all those things would solve the case, would help Victor work out how to be like Andy. How not to care.
Andy’s fingers working their way between the buttons of Victor’s shirt, helped him not to care. “Not here,” Victor mumbled. Not standing. He wanted to lie over him.
“My van’s fifty feet away,” Andy said.
Victor made a face. He wasn’t fucking in a van. “No.”
“Yes,” Andy said, in a deep voice, “it’s close. My van’s a good idea.”
“The van it is!” Victor said. He followed Andy toward it, even though he didn’t want to.
The inside was even worse than Victor imagined. There was a glitter ball in it that he knocked his head on as Andy’s hands propelled him inside. A couple of books jabbed into Victor’s side and he picked them up and threw them through - God, a raffia looking curtain - toward the front. Andy quickly shrugged off his coat and threw it after them.
Victor stopped noticing what was in the van when Andy straddled his hips and started to work on his belt. When Andy freed his cock and took it in his hand, Victor could have been anywhere. He could have been on a beach, or on the fucking moon, he wouldn’t have known, he’d only have known tight white hands sliding over his cock, making noises come out of Victor’s mouth that he wouldn’t admit to later. He’d only have known Andy’s mouth taking him all in, his tongue licking the tip when he drew back.
“More,” Victor said, his voice harsh, ragged, unrecognizable to his own ears. Andy started to suck, and Victor flattened his hands against the seat, dug his fingers into the pile to stop from coming too soon, ‘cause this was too good, this wet heat, this fire in his groin and his belly. He couldn’t stop himself, he couldn’t wait.
He heard his own voice begging Andy to, “drink it, please.”
Andy wiped his mouth with his thumb and grinned. “You don’t need to do anything back.” He mumbled it, shy and uncertain, sagging back against the side of the van. It was cramped. There wasn’t much of Victor that wasn’t touching Andy. Victor gazed down to where a bulge pressed what must have been damn uncomfortably against Andy’s jeans.
He wondered what it would take to make this hippy philosophizing no worries guy scream out his name and beg? Pleasure could be like agony. Victor wanted to show that to Andy.
He shuffled, a sequence of annoying moves that involved elbows and knees in uncomfortable places, until Andy was lying flat and Victor was wriggling down his body. Andy’s breath hissed out as the zip buzzed down; his cock was hard, blood red and curving toward his belly. Victor liked his own cock, much as any man did, but he‘d never thought they could be beautiful. Andy‘s was. Victor took a preliminary swipe with his tongue.
Then paused a really long time. Paused until Andy said, “Dude, don’t make me-“
Victor took him all in his mouth this time, far as he could, reached a hand and cupped his balls. “Oh yeah, man,” Andy began.
Then Victor stopped. He carried on stop, start, lick, suck, stop, until Andy was murmuring over and over, “You fucker stop it, blow me, you fucker, stop it, please....” Finally Victor enveloped him, licked and sucked and the cry from Andy’s mouth when it came was better than any frickin’ confession or congratulation or any of the other things Victor spent hours working for.
He should have gotten up and left but Andy pulled him up, wriggled so that Victor’s head was next to his. Somehow, Victor slept.
He woke to find Andy still asleep and to stiff joints. He had no idea how Andy lived like this, cramped in the van. He had no idea how Andy did lots of things, no idea how this could make Andy happy. Maybe the answer was in one of the books that lay discarded on the floor. Maybe the answer was something Victor would never understand.
He understood one thing. He was certain Andy knew the Winchesters. Victor saw the discarded coat. Andy had a cell. If he knew Sam and Dean, their numbers might be in that. Victor wriggled away from Andy, trying not to make any noise. The cell was only a few feet away. He could reach if he stretched.
“You don’t want to look in there.” The same low tone of voice. Victor’s hand froze in the air. He suddenly didn’t want to see the cell.
Something strange was going on.
“What’s... what the hell is this?” Victor sat back on his heels. “You know the Winchesters don’t you? Just tell me.”
Andy shook his head. “You don’t wanna hear it man.” He sounded sad. He propped himself up on his elbows. His face stiffened into a serious expression Victor hadn‘t seen so far. “Okay. Fine. I’ll tell you. I know them, sure. They’re good guys. Real good. You won’t see it. I’m sure they’ve done shit that looks odd to you.” Victor opened his mouth to speak. Andy raised his hand. “Dude, you push it, you’ll remember none of this.” He didn’t sound like he was joking. “You won’t believe me. Even if I make you believe me, for now, you’ll go after them again.” Andy shook his head. “But you’re a good guy too. Someday, you’ll see what they are.”
“They’ve taken you in.” Victor said. “How did they do that?”
Andy gave a small sad smile. “It’s a shame. You’d like Dean, if you... you’d like him.” He waved his hand. “You’d better go.”
It didn’t feel like an order, but Victor obeyed it anyway. When he got to the door Andy said a weird thing. He said, “I didn’t make you. You wanted to.”
Of course he did. Victor never did any shit he didn’t want. Except divorce that one time.
Andy Gallagher was a dead end. Onto the next lead.
**
Feedback is love as I fear this is possibly the most self indulgent, only me wants this, fic ever. Oh well.
**