Fic: Skew-symmetric
A few days ago, when I offered to write descriptions of first kisses, one pairing madame_d gave me was Dean/Nick. It turned into something more than a description.
Dean Winchester/Nick Carter
Rated PG-13/R.
No warnings, no spoilers.
Takes place about a year before A Tale of Lovers and Brothers but can also stand completely on its own.
Skew-symmetric
by mira
Sammy's gone, Dad's hunting whatever stumbles over his shotgun, and Dean's driving around without a plan, that's pretty much what makes up Dean's life right now. He picks up hitchhikers wherever he goes, makes long detours over bumpy roads sometimes, just to have company. If it's a pretty girl, he flirts with her, fucks a few in the backseat with their legs wrapped around him. There's not much choice of positions in the crammed space. Once a guy hits on him, and it's crazy and unexpected, and Dean takes the next exit and rolls into the parking lot of a Knights Inn.
Sammy, always into that psychoanalyzing shit would probably say that he's trying to make up for the empty space in the passenger seat. It's been a few months now, since Sammy packed up his things in a duffel bag and left, but it still stings like a bitch.
He goes to Florida because he's always wanted to see it, ends up at a beach bar in Tampa in the middle of the day, the sounds of the rolling waves drifting in through the open sliding doors.
A guy comes in, blond and sunburned, ink on his arms. He's dragging a smaller copy of himself along, arm around him holding the other guy - boy, really - too tightly, too close. Dean knows what it is because he's done it himself, years of pulling Sammy with him, protecting him. Dean almost snorts. Whatever they're dealing with, it's nothing compared to the monsters Dean's fighting.
The smaller one leaves after a while, carrying what remained of his coconut shrimp in a greasy paper bag, but the other stays, sits beside Dean at the bar. He orders a gin & tonic, raises his glass in a silent toast when Dean looks over. Dean watches him swirl the lime slice around his drink with a finger.
He only learns the guy's name when they come back from the bathroom, Dean wiping his mouth. The taste is still bitter on his tongue, almost artificial, and he washes it away with a gulp of alcohol.
There's a new, skinny guy at the other end of the bar, wearing ridiculously floral-patterned shorts, curls peeking out from under the white bandanna tied around his head, sunglasses pushed up over it. "Hey, Nick," he says, waving at the two them.
"Hi," Nick says, "What are you doing here?" He seems equally surprised and happy to see the guy, and Dean's more than ready to leave them alone, but when he walks outside, Nick follows him.
He runs his fingers over the hood of the Impala and fishes his wallet out of his pocket, gives Dean a fucking business card. "Call me if you come by here again, okay?" Nick says, and Dean nods, even though he knows he'll rip up the card and let the shreds flutter out the window as soon as he's round the corner. He won't come back, doesn't like it here, too many shiny people, too much sun. He wants to turn around, get into his car and drive until he hits open fields and backwoods towns again, but Nick leans in and kisses him, lips dry.
"Take care of your brother," Dean says when Nick draws back, and doesn't think of Sammy on the other end of the fucking country as he opens the screeching door. He looks in the rearview mirror once as he drives off. Nick is already going back inside.
End.
Dean Winchester/Nick Carter
Rated PG-13/R.
No warnings, no spoilers.
Takes place about a year before A Tale of Lovers and Brothers but can also stand completely on its own.
Skew-symmetric
by mira
Sammy's gone, Dad's hunting whatever stumbles over his shotgun, and Dean's driving around without a plan, that's pretty much what makes up Dean's life right now. He picks up hitchhikers wherever he goes, makes long detours over bumpy roads sometimes, just to have company. If it's a pretty girl, he flirts with her, fucks a few in the backseat with their legs wrapped around him. There's not much choice of positions in the crammed space. Once a guy hits on him, and it's crazy and unexpected, and Dean takes the next exit and rolls into the parking lot of a Knights Inn.
Sammy, always into that psychoanalyzing shit would probably say that he's trying to make up for the empty space in the passenger seat. It's been a few months now, since Sammy packed up his things in a duffel bag and left, but it still stings like a bitch.
He goes to Florida because he's always wanted to see it, ends up at a beach bar in Tampa in the middle of the day, the sounds of the rolling waves drifting in through the open sliding doors.
A guy comes in, blond and sunburned, ink on his arms. He's dragging a smaller copy of himself along, arm around him holding the other guy - boy, really - too tightly, too close. Dean knows what it is because he's done it himself, years of pulling Sammy with him, protecting him. Dean almost snorts. Whatever they're dealing with, it's nothing compared to the monsters Dean's fighting.
The smaller one leaves after a while, carrying what remained of his coconut shrimp in a greasy paper bag, but the other stays, sits beside Dean at the bar. He orders a gin & tonic, raises his glass in a silent toast when Dean looks over. Dean watches him swirl the lime slice around his drink with a finger.
He only learns the guy's name when they come back from the bathroom, Dean wiping his mouth. The taste is still bitter on his tongue, almost artificial, and he washes it away with a gulp of alcohol.
There's a new, skinny guy at the other end of the bar, wearing ridiculously floral-patterned shorts, curls peeking out from under the white bandanna tied around his head, sunglasses pushed up over it. "Hey, Nick," he says, waving at the two them.
"Hi," Nick says, "What are you doing here?" He seems equally surprised and happy to see the guy, and Dean's more than ready to leave them alone, but when he walks outside, Nick follows him.
He runs his fingers over the hood of the Impala and fishes his wallet out of his pocket, gives Dean a fucking business card. "Call me if you come by here again, okay?" Nick says, and Dean nods, even though he knows he'll rip up the card and let the shreds flutter out the window as soon as he's round the corner. He won't come back, doesn't like it here, too many shiny people, too much sun. He wants to turn around, get into his car and drive until he hits open fields and backwoods towns again, but Nick leans in and kisses him, lips dry.
"Take care of your brother," Dean says when Nick draws back, and doesn't think of Sammy on the other end of the fucking country as he opens the screeching door. He looks in the rearview mirror once as he drives off. Nick is already going back inside.
End.