Surface Tension (Chapter 6)
WOW, I'm sorry for the frankly ridiculous update delay. Unfortunately vet school often means coming home and saying to myself, "Well, I have enough time to either write, or make dinner, or take a shower. And I haven't eaten all day and I'm covered in poop." So I can't make promises about an update schedule. The only promise I can make is that I know where this story is going, I know how it ends, and I want to see it finished. Thanks to everyone who asked me about the next chapter and kept me writing.
And a quick disclaimer: while Jean Lafitte was a real pirate, I played a bit fast and loose with his history and timeline in order to make things work the way I wanted them to work. Forgive me my historical inaccuracies.
Previous chapters: : 1| 2| 3| 4| 5|
-----
They didn't bother keeping a low profile when they sailed into the port at Havana. It wasn't like at Stanford, where a strange ship stuck out like a broken thumb. Havana was a big enough place that even a distinctive ship like The Impala could edge in mostly unnoticed. And as for those who couldn't help but notice her, well, it wasn't as if Dean's crew were the only pirates in the harbor. The people of Havana understood that, while pirates might carry illegal cargo in and out of the city, they also paid for goods and services while they were there. A little money in the right hands and a low profile would allow them the run of the town, and the locals were happy to look the other way so as long as the crew didn't cause any trouble.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Anna called to Dean from where she was working in the rigging.
Dean supposed it was. The city seethed with humanity, and the ships flowing in and out of the harbor were its lifeblood. West of the harbor, intricate architecture blossomed. Mansions. Theaters. A refined place for refined people. Beautiful. But Dean had never been a part of that world, and he could never cultivate more than a passing interest in it. He had more important things to worry about.
He gathered up his crew once they were safely berthed in the Havana harbor, nestled among a garden of masts. The place swarmed like a hive, as it always did. The better to blend in.
"Take the night off," he told his crew. "Have some fun for a change." After making sure they all knew when to meet back in the morning and assigning shifts for the night watch, he nodded to dismiss them. They didn't go.
"Uh, Captain?" said one sailor, smiling hopefully.
"Yeah, Rosen?"
"Uh... we didn't get paid for the last job," she said, fidgeting. "Not that it was anyone's fault. But we're all a little light on coin and... it's Havana." The other sailors murmured in agreement.
Dean closed his eyes for a split second. Crowley had given him enough money to pay for the goods he was to transport, plus a little extra as an emergency fund for the journey. So far they hadn't needed that money. But, knowing Dean's luck, it might come in very handy on the return trip if the boat sprung a leak or snapped a mast, or if they needed to pay someone off, or if any number of other complications were to arise.
On the other hand, his crew were looking at him like baby birds waiting for him to puke a worm into their mouths. And it was true that they hadn't been paid in a good long while.
"Line up," he said. "You all get an advance on your pay for this trip. Now, who's the best captain?"
"You are!" they chorused as they shuffled into a single file. Even Anna said it, rolling her eyes fondly.
At first it was nice to see his sailors' faces light up as he counted coins into their hands one by one. They quickly scuttled off toward town, their purses full for the first time in months. But Dean's purse steadily shrank, and as it weighed less and less on his hand it began to weigh more and more on his mind. Once again, he was going to find himself walking the knife's edge of destitution. So his smiling, "Okay, don't spend it all on rum," toward the front of the line slowly became a rueful, "Stay out of trouble," as the line dwindled down to the last few people and his purse dwindled down to the last few coins.
Last in line was Creedy, slouching as if he could slip by unnoticed. After a moment of silence, Dean emptied out the rest of his purse and dropped the coins into Creedy's hand. It was much more than he had given anyone else.
"What's this?" said Creedy unsurely.
"Your back pay," said Dean. "Now get the Hell off my ship."
"You were serious about that?"
"Did I look like I was joking?"
Creedy looked like he might have thrown the coins back in Dean's face, but money was money and eventually he put it in his pocket. He slunk off the ship without another word.
Only Dean and Anna were left on the deck. Anna stared Dean down with her arms crossed. "You gave him money," she observed, her voice dripping with judgment.
"What was I supposed to do, leave him broke and stranded?" Dean wadded up his empty purse and put it away.
"No. You should have shot him back when he disobeyed your orders," said Anna without hesitation.
"That's not how I run my ship."
Anna sighed and leaned wearily on the railing. "I know," she said. "Well, how much money do we have left?"
"After we pay for the shipment we're picking up for Crowley?" Dean pretended to count on his fingers. "Uh, zero. Zero money."
Anna placed one hand delicately over her eyes. "Wonderful," she muttered.
Dean clapped a hand on her shoulder and did his best to smile. "Don't worry. We just need to finish the job before expenses start stacking up. I'll go into town tonight and see if I can track down Crowley's contact. With a little work I'll have the transfer set up by tomorrow night."
Anna had the first watch, so she stayed behind. Dean climbed down onto the dock and eased into the flow of sailors making their way to and from their ships on the narrow maze of wooden slats.
He wound his way through a forest of ships as he made for solid ground. Most were bigger and newer than The Impala. Dean recognized merchant vessels, a smattering of Navy ships, and a handful of boats that tried to blend in but couldn't be anything else but fellow pirates.
Then, halfway to shore, he turned a corner and stopped dead in his tracks. Sailors bumped into him and scooted around him like a river flowing around a rock, but he didn't mind and he didn't move. He just stared up at the hull of ship in front of him, where the words "Blood Chalice" were painted in blue and silver.
Benny Lafitte was docked in Havana.
-----
Before the great pirate Jean Lafitte set up the smuggling hub at Barataria Bay and began to cultivate an infamy that would rival that of John Winchester, he was the lowly son of a widow from the French colony of Saint-Domingue. The two of them - mother and son - traveled to New Orleans in the final decades of the eighteenth century. Not much was known about Jean Lafitte's young adulthood there in the bayous, but Dean Winchester knew at least one thing: Jean met and spent several months courting a young woman named Elizabeth Munroe.
The two parted ways, and for a few years after that Jean was kept busy. He sailed the gulf, making a name for himself, and even showed the first inklings of naval and criminal genius when he smuggled his own elder brother, Pierre, out of Saint-Domingue and out from under the noses of the Haitan revolutionaries there. By the time Jean became aware that Elizabeth had quietly borne and raised his son in the meantime, Benjamin Lafitte was nearly ten.
Jean returned to Elizabeth and made her an offer. He couldn't afford to have his own illegitimate offspring running around the Caribbean, possibly to show up at his doorstep one day expecting recognition. And he certainly couldn't have Benny following his footsteps into the life of piracy, showing him up and sapping his reputation. So Jean offered Elizabeth a hefty sum of money if Benjamin Lafitte would henceforth be known only as Benjamin Munroe, and if he would promise to make his living on the land.
Elizabeth, alone and destitute, made the promises and accepted the money.
Ten years later, a young pirate captain was taking ships under the name of Benjamin Lafitte, anyway.
-----
Dean was almost buzzing in his skin as he tore his eyes away from the hull of the ship and flagged down a passing dock worker. The man rolled his eyes at the interruption, but he joined Dean under the prow of the Blood Chalice and listened as Dean asked, "Hey, can you help me out? I'm looking for Captain Lafitte."
The man's eyes widened, his boredom suddenly banished. "I heard he was still up at Barataria..."
"Not that Lafitte," Dean cut him off. "His son. Captain Benjamin Lafitte."
"Oh," said the man, visibly relaxing. "Eh, I wouldn't know him if I saw him."
Dean muttered under his breath, "Figures," as he watched the dock man walk away. He probably hadn't recognized Dean, either, though he certainly would have known the name John Winchester. Sometimes anonymity was an advantage, but it could also be frustrating for Dean as a pirate captain to be less famous than his own last name.
He made his way slowly into town, stopping someone every now and then to ask if they'd seen the Blood Chalice's captain. He chose his marks carefully; he picked the pirates and ruffians out of the crowd and avoided anyone who looked proper enough that they might be alarmed by the name "Lafitte." Most didn't know Benny. Some had seen him, but didn't know where he was. Finally, Dean was lucky enough to catch one of Benny's own crew members on his way into a bar. "The Captain's down the street at the Jubilee," the man said.
The Jubilee Tavern was a smallish, comfortable place mostly frequented by locals. When Dean arrived, he could have easily picked the sole outsider even if he hadn't known him - Benny sat at the corner of the bar with his back to the wall, his thick blue coat stinking of the ocean and his scraggly beard picking up foam off his beer with every sip. His shoulders were like a crossbeam. His deep-set eyes picked up Dean's silhouette before he'd even fully opened the door, and when he recognized him those eyes crinkled at the edges in a way that warmed Dean's face even better than the Caribbean breeze.
Dean sat down beside Benny and, without so much as a greeting, helped himself to a swallow of beer. "Do you have this much trouble finding me when you go into a town asking after Captain Winchester?"
A slow, easy smile spread across Benny's face to match the lines around his eyes. "Not really," he rumbled. "I think it helps that your daddy is dead instead of sitting on his spoils up in Louisiana." When he took his beer back and downed the last of it, he looked at Dean with such fondness that Dean felt something kindle deep in his chest.
Dean couldn't help but match Benny's smile. "It's good to see you, man," he said, his voice dropping lower to keep from being overheard. "What brings you here?"
"Unloading some things," said Benny nonchalantly. "You?"
"Picking some things up."
"From whom?"
Dean breathed a sigh through his nose and said, "What do you say we hold off on talking shop for now? I just got here."
Benny rested a knowing hand on Dean's forearm and nodded. "You drinking?"
"If you're buying," Dean replied sheepishly.
"You broke again?"
"'Again' implies that there was a time in between when I wasn't broke," said Dean.
A scowl passed over Benny's face like a storm cloud. "You're bringing Crowley his dinner again and he's still got you eating table scraps," he growled.
"I said I didn't want to talk about it, okay? Just buy me a drink, big guy."
One more worried glance, and the storm cloud evaporated. Benny was smiling again. "Whatever you want, sugar," he said. "I got you tonight."
"Promise?" slipped out of Dean's mouth, and they both blushed. Then they both cast furtive glances around the bar, making sure no one was taking notice of them. After all, they were both reasonably-well-known pirate captains trying to make a name for themselves. They had to keep up at least a semblance of professionalism instead of making eyes at each other like schoolboys whenever they happened to dock in the same port.
No one was looking at them. Benny chuckled as he stood. "Let's start with that drink. Then we'll just see what I end up promising you," he murmured, leaning over the table to say it directly in Dean's ear. Dean tried to get his legs to stop vibrating as Benny sauntered over to the bar and came back with two pints. "So, what do you want to talk about, if business is off limits?"
There's a merman living in my cabin!
Dean swallowed the words down so hard that he almost squeaked. The urge to tell someone, anyone, was overwhelming, and Benny's open expression invited honesty. But Dean had promised. He wouldn't tell.
But he had to talk about it or he'd burst, and Benny was just far enough removed from Dean's crew that he could do it without giving anything away.
"Met a guy," Dean said.
"Hmm," said Benny through a mouthful of beer. "Pirate? Smuggler? Fence?"
"Nah, he's... I guess he's a civilian." Dean sipped on his beer without really tasting it.
"How'd you manage to meet one of those?"
"He saved my life." When Dean noticed Benny's raised eyebrows, he added, "Don't make a thing out of it. I survived, okay?"
"I reckon I owe the guy one, then," said Benny.
"Nah, I saved his life right back. So I think we're getting close to even."
"Sounds dramatic."
"It was at first," said Dean, staring into his beer. "Now it's just... huh. Benny, I was just so completely, hilariously unprepared for this guy."
Benny looked like he would have liked to say something, but he picked up his beer and drank instead, knitting his eyebrows at Dean from over the top of his glass.
So Dean went on. "He's a huge inconvenience. A huge distraction. He... it's like I've had this one problem for years - Crowley, I mean. And I spend all my time trying to solve this problem. And then Cas comes along and suddenly there's this whole new problem to deal with. And he's the worst kind of problem because he makes me forget about the first problem, the real problem. When I'm with him I don't worry about Crowley or my debt or keeping my ship afloat. I just worry about him. And fuck, sometimes he even manages to make me forget that he's a problem, too. And then I'm not worried at all. I'm goddamn..."
"Happy?" Benny interrupted, looking amused.
"Complacent," said Dean, spitting the word out like a curse.
Benny stared at him with his lips twisted into a resigned smile. "Honey, I know you hate it when people automatically assume you're sleeping with someone, but..."
"Oh my God!" Dean sputtered around the last mouthful of his beer. "I'm not sleeping with him!"
"I wouldn't be jealous if you were."
"I'm absolutely not sleeping with him," said Dean. "There are some, uh, pretty substantial reasons why I'm not sleeping with him. Moral and logistical and... anatomical... reasons..."
Benny did the tiniest of double-takes. "Anatomical?"
"The point is I'm not sleeping with him."
"Okay," said Benny nonchalantly. Then, "So, his name is Cas?"
"I take it back. Let's talk about business," Dean groaned.
Benny finished his beer with a slurp. "I've got a better idea," he said. "Let's talk about you and me heading back to my cabin for the night."
Feeling very glad that Benny hadn't suggested they go back to Dean's cabin instead, Dean replied, "I thought you'd never ask."
-----
They didn't talk much as they left the Jubilee. They communicated in sidelong glances and stolen smiles as they waded against the tide of the evening crowd - everyone else was heading to the bars; Dean and Benny were going back to the docks. Dean didn't speak up again until the crowd had thinned out to a trickle and they could feel like they were somewhat alone.
"What are you dropping off here?"
Benny tilted his head with a grin. "Thought we weren't talking business."
"Come on, Benny, what did you score?"
He shrugged, but Benny's persistent smile belied the fact that he'd had a good week. "Took a merchant ship coming out of the gulf," he said. "No fight in 'em. They surrendered after a couple of warning shots and I took their very reasonable offer of half their cargo."
Dean was always pleased when Benny's stories ended in no one getting killed. But he had to shake his head at the marvel that Benny was so well-off that he could afford to leave behind half the spoils of his conquest. "Time was, you would have taken all their cargo and their ship, too."
Benny just shrugged again. "Sure, but then I would have had to tell you that I'd left their whole crew adrift in lifeboats, and you would have given me those eyes like I'd just stepped on a puppy. Besides, I don't need their ship. I've got a ship. It's a good ship. My father gave it to me."
Dean tripped over a cobblestone and almost fell. "What?" he choked. "Jean Lafitte gave you the Blood Chalice? I thought he hated your guts!"
"I haven't told you about that?" said Benny, taking Dean's elbow and pulling him back upright. "He gave it to me in exchange for me promising not to use his name."
"Nah, he paid your mother for you not to use his name." Dean squinted, trying to remember the story.
"He did that," said Benny. "Then, when I grew up and got a notion to try my hand at pirating, I tracked him down. Told him that he'd made a deal with my mother, not with me, and I'd go sailing if I wanted. He wasn't happy about it, but he understood. He just didn't want me running around claiming I was his blood. He'd just taken the Chalice a prize, and he offered her to me if I'd keep going by Munroe."
"So you took her," said Dean. He placed a hand over his eyes as he realized. "And kept using the name, anyway."
"I meant to keep my word," said Benny sheepishly. "But it didn't take long for people to figure out who I was. A few years in, everyone was calling me Lafitte. Seemed silly to keep introducing myself as anything else."
"Jesus," Dean whispered. "No wonder he put a bounty on you."
Now it was Benny's turn to stumble as they passed from the lane onto the docks. "You know about that?"
"Well, yeah," said Dean, pausing to wait for Benny to regain his footing. "It's not like he broadcasts it, but by now most people know that if they get you up to Barataria then Jean will make it worth their while."
"Worth their while..." Benny chuckled darkly. He hesitated, then added, "You ever think about it?"
They'd just reached the Blood Chalice. Dean stopped and turned so that he was facing Benny, the two of them hidden in the shadow of the ship's hull. "You're worth more to me than anything he can pay."
Benny scoffed. "You know he's rich enough to make your debt with Crowley go away?"
"Like I said."
This time they didn't bother looking around to see if anyone was watching. Benny reached out, maybe just to put his hand on Dean's face, but Dean was already leaning in and soon their hands were all over, pulling their lips closer, crushing their bodies together. Dean could sink into Benny so easily. His coat swallowed him. His hands on the back of his head and between his shoulder blades were so strong and broad that it was like they could hold him up.
The ship was almost deserted when they made their way up on deck. The sailor on the night watch reached for her pistol, then relaxed when she recognized her captain and his guest. Benny tipped his cap to her as he passed by, his arm around Dean's waist.
Benny's cabin was nicer than Dean's. The room was bigger and better lit, as if Benny had actually cared to choose a room befitting his station when he picked out where he would sleep. But it wasn't gaudy or pretentious, like the quarters of some captains. The furniture was plain wood, the bed sheets were plain linen, and the predominant decoration was stacks of books. Much like its inhabitant, it was just on the comfortable side of spartan.
Benny's arm slipped free of Dean's side as he strode into the room purposefully. He shed his clothes as he walked. His coat and shirt he unbuttoned with barely a thought, and shrugged them off with a tiny roll of his shoulders. They fell on the floor in a heap. He unbuckled his belt, and with a dip of his hips his trousers fell off his legs. He stepped out them, kicking his shoes off as he went. In three steps all his clothes had fallen away from him, as quickly as if nakedness were his natural state and he were merely returning to it.
His shoulders, if possible, were even broader without the coat over them. His limbs were thick and his skin bronzed by the Caribbean sun. Once across the room, he pulled the chair out from his desk and spun it around so that it stood in the middle of the floor, facing Dean. Then he sat down, and Dean was reminded that Benny's kindness and warmth and genuineness aside, he also had the biggest cock that Dean had ever had the pleasure of fucking.
Benny leaned back and spread his legs, affording Dean the best possible view from where he was still standing clothed and speechless in the doorway. Benny raised his hands and beckoned. "Come here," he said.
Dean didn't have to be told twice. He kicked the door closed behind him and stripped. He was somewhat less graceful than Benny had been - his shirt got stuck halfway over his head and one trouser leg stubbornly refused to come off his ankle. Benny just watched with an amused smile on his face until Dean managed to get free.
"Shut up," said Dean. He stepped forward until he was standing over Benny, straddling his lap. Even without being touched, his cock was pulsing its way to hardness right in front of Benny's face.
"I didn't say nothing," said Benny, leaning forward. In one smooth movement, he rolled a condom onto Dean's cock and lapped it into his mouth. He closed his lips around him as easily and casually as if he were kissing him.
A jolt went through Dean's legs as he swelled against Benny's tongue, and he had to put his hands on Benny's shoulders to steady himself. Benny's rough hands ran up the backs of his thighs and gripped his buttocks to draw him in closer until Benny's nose was brushing the hairs at Dean's groin. He held him there a moment, deep enough that he couldn't breathe, his eyes closed as he savored the taste and sensation of Dean in his mouth and in his hands.
Benny fucked with such a warm familiarity. Even from the first time, it had always been as if their bodies had known each other, known how to fit together and give each other pleasure. There was no pretention to the man and no hesitation. He sucked Dean's cock like it belonged in his mouth, and he cherished Dean's body like a gift.
At first Benny's eyes kept flicking upwards to watch as Dean's face went slack and dreamy. Only when he was satisfied that Dean was enjoying himself did he close his eyes. Dean's eyes fluttered shut too, his fingers kneading at the thick muscle where Benny's shoulders met his neck and creeping up to toy with the soft hair at his nape. He pressed with two fingers at the base of Benny's skull, softly, just barely asking for more.
Benny answered by letting go of Dean with one hand and reaching behind himself toward the desk. There was a little pot of oil there; Benny flipped the lid off with practiced ease and dipped his fingers into it.
Dean didn't bother holding back a breathy sigh of pleasure as Benny worked his slippery fingers between the cheeks of Dean's ass to rest against his hole. He traced tiny circles there, spreading the oil around and coaxing Dean open. He'd stopped sucking. Dean's cock rested atop his lower lip, twitching each time his fingers probed a little deeper.
Before entering him, Benny lifted his eyes and quirked his eyebrows, asking silent permission. Dean nodded so hard that his dick bobbed up and down against Benny's mouth.
First one finger, then two, as easy as anything. With a wicked, open-mouthed grin, Benny crooked his fingers and pulled Dean toward him, drawing Dean's cock deeper into his mouth by the pressure on Dean's prostate. Dean had to collapse forward, his hands braced against the desk behind the chair, his mouth gaping and gasping. Benny tugged insistently, rhythmically, and soon Dean's hips were working to keep up with him, thrusting in and out of his mouth as Benny's head rested lazily against the chair back.
He pushed and pulled, and sucked, the pressure of it so intense that Dean barely noticed when he slipped a third finger in beside the first two. It was all he could do to follow the motion of Benny's hand, trying to match the pace even as his legs trembled and he clenched around Benny's fingers with the effort and pleasure of it.
When Benny pulled him all the way in, Dean's balls resting against his beard, and kept pulling with his fingers curved wickedly against Dean's prostate, Dean could help but let out a moan that was higher-pitched than he'd meant it to be. And Benny, that bastard - Dean could actually feel him smiling around his mouthful at the noises he was teasing out of Dean.
Dean's hand scrabbled over the surface of the desk, working behind Benny's back to find the little drawer on the far right where he knew the rest of his condoms were hidden. When he finally found what he was looking for, he reluctantly backed off of Benny's fingers, out of his mouth, to kneel between his legs and slide the condom on. And, fuck, it was bigger than he remembered. He could barely get his fingers around it. He ended up having to use both hands to unroll the condom past the bulging mushroom-shaped head and down the thick, veiny shaft that was getting harder with every touch.
"Do you have to jack off with two hands?" said Dean with a smirk as he grabbed the pot of oil and poured some over Benny's cock.
Benny gave a pleased little grunt as Dean smeared the oil around. "Don't need to. I can usually find someone to do that for me." Then, as Dean stood to straddle his lap again, he added, "You good like this? You don't wanna move it to the bed?"
"Nah, this is good." He bent his knees slowly, bracing himself with one hand behind Benny's neck as he lowered himself down. With his other hand he guided the slippery rod between the cheeks of his ass until the tip of it was poking at his opening. He felt so loose, so ready, but he could also feel Benny's girth pressing outward against his cheeks and reminding him of how tight a fit it could be. He mumbled, face flushing, "You remember, right?"
Benny nodded seriously and cupped Dean's face in his hands. "Yeah, I know. I don't thrust up, I don't push you down. I don't move. You go your own pace."
"Thanks."
"You don't need to thank me for not hurting you."
It was going to hurt no matter what. But that was part of it. As Dean bent his legs farther, letting his weight settle, letting Benny's cock prod deeper until the head of it was nosing its way inside and stretching him open as it went, he quickly reached the limits of his comfort and pushed through into a warm, stinging pain. He sobbed out a laugh as the flared head slid past his sphincter. It hurt. But he was riding the edge of his own limits, and he was in control. Benny was all warmth and security, a gentle bear of a man, and Dean ached to be wrapped up in him, to press himself against him and invite him deep inside. And that was worth a little pain. In fact, the pain made it better. So Dean sat down into Benny's lap inch by inch, panting and straining, willing himself open.
Benny's hands came up to rest on Dean's hips, but true to his word he didn't push Dean in any direction. He just rubbed little comforting circles on Dean's flanks with his fingertips. The calmness of his hands was at odds with the tension in his face - he breathed through gritted teeth and stared into Dean's eyes with a wildness brought on by overwhelming pleasure, the muscles of his neck fluttering with the effort to keep his body still. But his hands moved smoothly to stroke up and down Dean's back, loving every inch of his skin that they could reach.
By the time Dean's butt settled flush against Benny's pelvis and thighs, Dean was collapsed against Benny's shoulder, shaking, each breath a reedy little sigh. Benny turned his head and kissed him. Dean did his best to participate, but his mouth couldn't do much more than gape and gasp at the overwhelming sensation of fullness that was gripping his whole body. Benny sucked at his lips and kissed his way across Dean's cheeks anyway. By the time he'd made his way down Dean's neck and was nipping at his collarbones, Dean had planted his feet back on the floor and was slowly rolling his hips up and down, impaling himself on Benny's huge cock again and again.
Soon it was Benny who was coming apart, and Dean who was kissing back savagely. The more the pain ebbed the faster he went. His thighs shook every time he lifted himself up; there was a wet slapping sound as his ass met Benny's groin every time he let himself fall back down.
"Fuck..." Benny groaned, face pressed against Dean's chest and fingers digging into his back. "Dean, baby, I can't hold out."
Dean rode him even faster. "It's okay. It's okay. I want you to."
All he needed was permission. Benny let go with a shout, and Dean kept fucking him right through his orgasm, never slowing until Benny slumped backwards, spent.
Dean could barely feel his legs as he lifted himself off of Benny's lap and stood. He stumbled a few steps, then collapsed backwards onto the bed with a weak, giddy chuckle. His cock flopped limply against his thigh. Benny's girth was so overwhelming that he could never seem to get hard at the same time as getting fucked. But after only a minute or two to recover, a pleasurable little twinge seemed to signal his readiness. He reached down and began to lazily stroke himself.
He responded quickly. But just as he was getting hard, Benny leaped out of his chair and swatted Dean's hand away. "Let me do that," he said. A few more pumps of his hand and Dean was standing at attention. Benny produced another condom and slid it on.
"No arguments here," Dean sighed, leaning back and enjoying the warm, wet, pressure of Benny's mouth through the thin barrier of the condom.
Dean's hands relaxed at his sides. Benny reached up and found them, lacing their fingers together and holding on as if they were the only things keeping each other from falling.
Dean arched and bucked, and finally shuddered and whimpered as he came, too well-fucked to last for more than a minute. His hands clenched on Benny's. Benny matched him for strength as he sucked the last few moans out of Dean.
Both too tired to move, Dean fell asleep on his back in the damp of his own sweat and come. Benny curled up with his head resting on Dean's inner thigh, his face nuzzled up against Dean's balls.
They slept like stones.
-----
The sky outside the porthole had long since gone dark, and Castiel was still swishing impatiently in his basin of lukewarm water, alone. The floor was criss-crossed with shiny, drying trails from where he had dragged himself around the room, inspecting everything that might have been of interest. He'd picked through most of Dean's books. When he ran out of ones with pictures, he resorted to studying the assemblages of printed letters on the pages as if he could draw some meaning from them by the sheer power of his boredom.
Dean hadn't made any particular promises about when he'd be back, but Castiel had become accustomed to seeing him in the evening. Now, as the moon climbed in the sky, Castiel grew more and more nervous. Something could have happened to Dean. The ship could be in danger. The world could be ending for all he knew, confined to this little cabin far from home. As long as he was here, he was more or less helpless.
It was pathetic how quickly he perked up when he heard something jiggling in the lock and the door slowly sliding open. "Dean?" he called out softly.
The figure in the shadow of the doorway flinched at the sound of Castiel's voice. By the time Castiel realized that the man in the doorway was not Dean, he had already entered, closed the door behind him, and removed his pistol from its holster. "My God," he said. "He really was hiding something."
It was the same voice that Castiel had heard argue with Dean outside the cabin door - Creedy.
"Who the hell are you?" Creedy whispered. He held his gun by his side. His wide eyes searched Castiel again and again.
Castiel sat as still as a statue, his elbows propped on the edge of the basin, his lower body hidden beneath the dark, glassy surface of the water. He was silent. There was nothing he could say to make this situation any better.
"What..." Creedy seemed paralyzed by his own confusion. Whatever he'd been expecting to find in here, Castiel wasn't it. "What are you..." He inched closer and closer to the basin, his fingers tight around the grip of the pistol. By watching Creedy's eyes, Castiel saw the exact moment when he drew close enough for the water's surface to change from dark and reflective to moonlit and transparent. He glimpsed the tangle of tentacles in the bottom of the basin. It took another second for him to realize that those tentacles were attached to Castiel.
That's when he finally raised his gun.
He leapt back as he did it, flailing, panicked, trying to put some distance between himself and the monster he had discovered. But the cabin was small, and Castiel's tentacles were long. He snapped the pistol out of Creedy's hand before it could even finish rising to find its target.
"Listen to me, please..." Castiel said, his tentacle holding Creedy's wrist tight, but it was far too late for words. Creedy pulled a dagger out of his belt with his free hand and slashed at Castiel. He swung the blade in every direction, trying to hit something, anything. He was wild. There would be no reasoning with him.
Castiel fought down a twinge of sympathy as he easily dodged the dagger and lashed a tentacle around Creedy's other wrist. The man had no idea how outmatched he was. The gun had been his one advantage, and he'd wasted it by getting too close. Now he was hand-to-hand with Castiel, one-on-one, and near water. And even though the water was nothing more than a wooden basin, it was still Castiel's element.
Creedy, finding his hands bound, tried to kick out as Castiel reeled him in. But he was weak compared to Castiel's vicelike grip, and he had so very few limbs. Soon they were all used up, tangled in Castiel's tentacles, and Castiel still had limbs left over to drag Creedy over the edge of the basin and hold his head under the surface until the thrashing stopped.
There was an awful stillness when it was done. Then practicality took over. When Castiel pulled the body out of the water, it was no longer a person. It was just an object that Castiel needed to remove from the room as quickly as possible. For the first time since leaving Stanford, Castiel pulled himself across the floor and exited the cabin.
The crew member on watch was slumped over against the railing, a lump forming on the back of his head. Castiel only looked close enough to confirm that he was still alive and breathing. Then he returned to the cabin, dragged the body out, and tossed it overboard. It sank readily into the dark water. With any luck, they would be long gone from Havana by the time it started to float.
Castiel returned to the cabin. He was about to climb back into his basin, but stopped just before touching the death-tainted water.
He almost dumped it out. But then he would have had to refill it, and a bucket popping in and out of a porthole in the quiet, still harbor would have been far too conspicuous. In the end he eased himself back into the water and sat there miserably through the night.
He didn't sleep.
And a quick disclaimer: while Jean Lafitte was a real pirate, I played a bit fast and loose with his history and timeline in order to make things work the way I wanted them to work. Forgive me my historical inaccuracies.
Previous chapters: : 1| 2| 3| 4| 5|
-----
They didn't bother keeping a low profile when they sailed into the port at Havana. It wasn't like at Stanford, where a strange ship stuck out like a broken thumb. Havana was a big enough place that even a distinctive ship like The Impala could edge in mostly unnoticed. And as for those who couldn't help but notice her, well, it wasn't as if Dean's crew were the only pirates in the harbor. The people of Havana understood that, while pirates might carry illegal cargo in and out of the city, they also paid for goods and services while they were there. A little money in the right hands and a low profile would allow them the run of the town, and the locals were happy to look the other way so as long as the crew didn't cause any trouble.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Anna called to Dean from where she was working in the rigging.
Dean supposed it was. The city seethed with humanity, and the ships flowing in and out of the harbor were its lifeblood. West of the harbor, intricate architecture blossomed. Mansions. Theaters. A refined place for refined people. Beautiful. But Dean had never been a part of that world, and he could never cultivate more than a passing interest in it. He had more important things to worry about.
He gathered up his crew once they were safely berthed in the Havana harbor, nestled among a garden of masts. The place swarmed like a hive, as it always did. The better to blend in.
"Take the night off," he told his crew. "Have some fun for a change." After making sure they all knew when to meet back in the morning and assigning shifts for the night watch, he nodded to dismiss them. They didn't go.
"Uh, Captain?" said one sailor, smiling hopefully.
"Yeah, Rosen?"
"Uh... we didn't get paid for the last job," she said, fidgeting. "Not that it was anyone's fault. But we're all a little light on coin and... it's Havana." The other sailors murmured in agreement.
Dean closed his eyes for a split second. Crowley had given him enough money to pay for the goods he was to transport, plus a little extra as an emergency fund for the journey. So far they hadn't needed that money. But, knowing Dean's luck, it might come in very handy on the return trip if the boat sprung a leak or snapped a mast, or if they needed to pay someone off, or if any number of other complications were to arise.
On the other hand, his crew were looking at him like baby birds waiting for him to puke a worm into their mouths. And it was true that they hadn't been paid in a good long while.
"Line up," he said. "You all get an advance on your pay for this trip. Now, who's the best captain?"
"You are!" they chorused as they shuffled into a single file. Even Anna said it, rolling her eyes fondly.
At first it was nice to see his sailors' faces light up as he counted coins into their hands one by one. They quickly scuttled off toward town, their purses full for the first time in months. But Dean's purse steadily shrank, and as it weighed less and less on his hand it began to weigh more and more on his mind. Once again, he was going to find himself walking the knife's edge of destitution. So his smiling, "Okay, don't spend it all on rum," toward the front of the line slowly became a rueful, "Stay out of trouble," as the line dwindled down to the last few people and his purse dwindled down to the last few coins.
Last in line was Creedy, slouching as if he could slip by unnoticed. After a moment of silence, Dean emptied out the rest of his purse and dropped the coins into Creedy's hand. It was much more than he had given anyone else.
"What's this?" said Creedy unsurely.
"Your back pay," said Dean. "Now get the Hell off my ship."
"You were serious about that?"
"Did I look like I was joking?"
Creedy looked like he might have thrown the coins back in Dean's face, but money was money and eventually he put it in his pocket. He slunk off the ship without another word.
Only Dean and Anna were left on the deck. Anna stared Dean down with her arms crossed. "You gave him money," she observed, her voice dripping with judgment.
"What was I supposed to do, leave him broke and stranded?" Dean wadded up his empty purse and put it away.
"No. You should have shot him back when he disobeyed your orders," said Anna without hesitation.
"That's not how I run my ship."
Anna sighed and leaned wearily on the railing. "I know," she said. "Well, how much money do we have left?"
"After we pay for the shipment we're picking up for Crowley?" Dean pretended to count on his fingers. "Uh, zero. Zero money."
Anna placed one hand delicately over her eyes. "Wonderful," she muttered.
Dean clapped a hand on her shoulder and did his best to smile. "Don't worry. We just need to finish the job before expenses start stacking up. I'll go into town tonight and see if I can track down Crowley's contact. With a little work I'll have the transfer set up by tomorrow night."
Anna had the first watch, so she stayed behind. Dean climbed down onto the dock and eased into the flow of sailors making their way to and from their ships on the narrow maze of wooden slats.
He wound his way through a forest of ships as he made for solid ground. Most were bigger and newer than The Impala. Dean recognized merchant vessels, a smattering of Navy ships, and a handful of boats that tried to blend in but couldn't be anything else but fellow pirates.
Then, halfway to shore, he turned a corner and stopped dead in his tracks. Sailors bumped into him and scooted around him like a river flowing around a rock, but he didn't mind and he didn't move. He just stared up at the hull of ship in front of him, where the words "Blood Chalice" were painted in blue and silver.
Benny Lafitte was docked in Havana.
-----
Before the great pirate Jean Lafitte set up the smuggling hub at Barataria Bay and began to cultivate an infamy that would rival that of John Winchester, he was the lowly son of a widow from the French colony of Saint-Domingue. The two of them - mother and son - traveled to New Orleans in the final decades of the eighteenth century. Not much was known about Jean Lafitte's young adulthood there in the bayous, but Dean Winchester knew at least one thing: Jean met and spent several months courting a young woman named Elizabeth Munroe.
The two parted ways, and for a few years after that Jean was kept busy. He sailed the gulf, making a name for himself, and even showed the first inklings of naval and criminal genius when he smuggled his own elder brother, Pierre, out of Saint-Domingue and out from under the noses of the Haitan revolutionaries there. By the time Jean became aware that Elizabeth had quietly borne and raised his son in the meantime, Benjamin Lafitte was nearly ten.
Jean returned to Elizabeth and made her an offer. He couldn't afford to have his own illegitimate offspring running around the Caribbean, possibly to show up at his doorstep one day expecting recognition. And he certainly couldn't have Benny following his footsteps into the life of piracy, showing him up and sapping his reputation. So Jean offered Elizabeth a hefty sum of money if Benjamin Lafitte would henceforth be known only as Benjamin Munroe, and if he would promise to make his living on the land.
Elizabeth, alone and destitute, made the promises and accepted the money.
Ten years later, a young pirate captain was taking ships under the name of Benjamin Lafitte, anyway.
-----
Dean was almost buzzing in his skin as he tore his eyes away from the hull of the ship and flagged down a passing dock worker. The man rolled his eyes at the interruption, but he joined Dean under the prow of the Blood Chalice and listened as Dean asked, "Hey, can you help me out? I'm looking for Captain Lafitte."
The man's eyes widened, his boredom suddenly banished. "I heard he was still up at Barataria..."
"Not that Lafitte," Dean cut him off. "His son. Captain Benjamin Lafitte."
"Oh," said the man, visibly relaxing. "Eh, I wouldn't know him if I saw him."
Dean muttered under his breath, "Figures," as he watched the dock man walk away. He probably hadn't recognized Dean, either, though he certainly would have known the name John Winchester. Sometimes anonymity was an advantage, but it could also be frustrating for Dean as a pirate captain to be less famous than his own last name.
He made his way slowly into town, stopping someone every now and then to ask if they'd seen the Blood Chalice's captain. He chose his marks carefully; he picked the pirates and ruffians out of the crowd and avoided anyone who looked proper enough that they might be alarmed by the name "Lafitte." Most didn't know Benny. Some had seen him, but didn't know where he was. Finally, Dean was lucky enough to catch one of Benny's own crew members on his way into a bar. "The Captain's down the street at the Jubilee," the man said.
The Jubilee Tavern was a smallish, comfortable place mostly frequented by locals. When Dean arrived, he could have easily picked the sole outsider even if he hadn't known him - Benny sat at the corner of the bar with his back to the wall, his thick blue coat stinking of the ocean and his scraggly beard picking up foam off his beer with every sip. His shoulders were like a crossbeam. His deep-set eyes picked up Dean's silhouette before he'd even fully opened the door, and when he recognized him those eyes crinkled at the edges in a way that warmed Dean's face even better than the Caribbean breeze.
Dean sat down beside Benny and, without so much as a greeting, helped himself to a swallow of beer. "Do you have this much trouble finding me when you go into a town asking after Captain Winchester?"
A slow, easy smile spread across Benny's face to match the lines around his eyes. "Not really," he rumbled. "I think it helps that your daddy is dead instead of sitting on his spoils up in Louisiana." When he took his beer back and downed the last of it, he looked at Dean with such fondness that Dean felt something kindle deep in his chest.
Dean couldn't help but match Benny's smile. "It's good to see you, man," he said, his voice dropping lower to keep from being overheard. "What brings you here?"
"Unloading some things," said Benny nonchalantly. "You?"
"Picking some things up."
"From whom?"
Dean breathed a sigh through his nose and said, "What do you say we hold off on talking shop for now? I just got here."
Benny rested a knowing hand on Dean's forearm and nodded. "You drinking?"
"If you're buying," Dean replied sheepishly.
"You broke again?"
"'Again' implies that there was a time in between when I wasn't broke," said Dean.
A scowl passed over Benny's face like a storm cloud. "You're bringing Crowley his dinner again and he's still got you eating table scraps," he growled.
"I said I didn't want to talk about it, okay? Just buy me a drink, big guy."
One more worried glance, and the storm cloud evaporated. Benny was smiling again. "Whatever you want, sugar," he said. "I got you tonight."
"Promise?" slipped out of Dean's mouth, and they both blushed. Then they both cast furtive glances around the bar, making sure no one was taking notice of them. After all, they were both reasonably-well-known pirate captains trying to make a name for themselves. They had to keep up at least a semblance of professionalism instead of making eyes at each other like schoolboys whenever they happened to dock in the same port.
No one was looking at them. Benny chuckled as he stood. "Let's start with that drink. Then we'll just see what I end up promising you," he murmured, leaning over the table to say it directly in Dean's ear. Dean tried to get his legs to stop vibrating as Benny sauntered over to the bar and came back with two pints. "So, what do you want to talk about, if business is off limits?"
There's a merman living in my cabin!
Dean swallowed the words down so hard that he almost squeaked. The urge to tell someone, anyone, was overwhelming, and Benny's open expression invited honesty. But Dean had promised. He wouldn't tell.
But he had to talk about it or he'd burst, and Benny was just far enough removed from Dean's crew that he could do it without giving anything away.
"Met a guy," Dean said.
"Hmm," said Benny through a mouthful of beer. "Pirate? Smuggler? Fence?"
"Nah, he's... I guess he's a civilian." Dean sipped on his beer without really tasting it.
"How'd you manage to meet one of those?"
"He saved my life." When Dean noticed Benny's raised eyebrows, he added, "Don't make a thing out of it. I survived, okay?"
"I reckon I owe the guy one, then," said Benny.
"Nah, I saved his life right back. So I think we're getting close to even."
"Sounds dramatic."
"It was at first," said Dean, staring into his beer. "Now it's just... huh. Benny, I was just so completely, hilariously unprepared for this guy."
Benny looked like he would have liked to say something, but he picked up his beer and drank instead, knitting his eyebrows at Dean from over the top of his glass.
So Dean went on. "He's a huge inconvenience. A huge distraction. He... it's like I've had this one problem for years - Crowley, I mean. And I spend all my time trying to solve this problem. And then Cas comes along and suddenly there's this whole new problem to deal with. And he's the worst kind of problem because he makes me forget about the first problem, the real problem. When I'm with him I don't worry about Crowley or my debt or keeping my ship afloat. I just worry about him. And fuck, sometimes he even manages to make me forget that he's a problem, too. And then I'm not worried at all. I'm goddamn..."
"Happy?" Benny interrupted, looking amused.
"Complacent," said Dean, spitting the word out like a curse.
Benny stared at him with his lips twisted into a resigned smile. "Honey, I know you hate it when people automatically assume you're sleeping with someone, but..."
"Oh my God!" Dean sputtered around the last mouthful of his beer. "I'm not sleeping with him!"
"I wouldn't be jealous if you were."
"I'm absolutely not sleeping with him," said Dean. "There are some, uh, pretty substantial reasons why I'm not sleeping with him. Moral and logistical and... anatomical... reasons..."
Benny did the tiniest of double-takes. "Anatomical?"
"The point is I'm not sleeping with him."
"Okay," said Benny nonchalantly. Then, "So, his name is Cas?"
"I take it back. Let's talk about business," Dean groaned.
Benny finished his beer with a slurp. "I've got a better idea," he said. "Let's talk about you and me heading back to my cabin for the night."
Feeling very glad that Benny hadn't suggested they go back to Dean's cabin instead, Dean replied, "I thought you'd never ask."
-----
They didn't talk much as they left the Jubilee. They communicated in sidelong glances and stolen smiles as they waded against the tide of the evening crowd - everyone else was heading to the bars; Dean and Benny were going back to the docks. Dean didn't speak up again until the crowd had thinned out to a trickle and they could feel like they were somewhat alone.
"What are you dropping off here?"
Benny tilted his head with a grin. "Thought we weren't talking business."
"Come on, Benny, what did you score?"
He shrugged, but Benny's persistent smile belied the fact that he'd had a good week. "Took a merchant ship coming out of the gulf," he said. "No fight in 'em. They surrendered after a couple of warning shots and I took their very reasonable offer of half their cargo."
Dean was always pleased when Benny's stories ended in no one getting killed. But he had to shake his head at the marvel that Benny was so well-off that he could afford to leave behind half the spoils of his conquest. "Time was, you would have taken all their cargo and their ship, too."
Benny just shrugged again. "Sure, but then I would have had to tell you that I'd left their whole crew adrift in lifeboats, and you would have given me those eyes like I'd just stepped on a puppy. Besides, I don't need their ship. I've got a ship. It's a good ship. My father gave it to me."
Dean tripped over a cobblestone and almost fell. "What?" he choked. "Jean Lafitte gave you the Blood Chalice? I thought he hated your guts!"
"I haven't told you about that?" said Benny, taking Dean's elbow and pulling him back upright. "He gave it to me in exchange for me promising not to use his name."
"Nah, he paid your mother for you not to use his name." Dean squinted, trying to remember the story.
"He did that," said Benny. "Then, when I grew up and got a notion to try my hand at pirating, I tracked him down. Told him that he'd made a deal with my mother, not with me, and I'd go sailing if I wanted. He wasn't happy about it, but he understood. He just didn't want me running around claiming I was his blood. He'd just taken the Chalice a prize, and he offered her to me if I'd keep going by Munroe."
"So you took her," said Dean. He placed a hand over his eyes as he realized. "And kept using the name, anyway."
"I meant to keep my word," said Benny sheepishly. "But it didn't take long for people to figure out who I was. A few years in, everyone was calling me Lafitte. Seemed silly to keep introducing myself as anything else."
"Jesus," Dean whispered. "No wonder he put a bounty on you."
Now it was Benny's turn to stumble as they passed from the lane onto the docks. "You know about that?"
"Well, yeah," said Dean, pausing to wait for Benny to regain his footing. "It's not like he broadcasts it, but by now most people know that if they get you up to Barataria then Jean will make it worth their while."
"Worth their while..." Benny chuckled darkly. He hesitated, then added, "You ever think about it?"
They'd just reached the Blood Chalice. Dean stopped and turned so that he was facing Benny, the two of them hidden in the shadow of the ship's hull. "You're worth more to me than anything he can pay."
Benny scoffed. "You know he's rich enough to make your debt with Crowley go away?"
"Like I said."
This time they didn't bother looking around to see if anyone was watching. Benny reached out, maybe just to put his hand on Dean's face, but Dean was already leaning in and soon their hands were all over, pulling their lips closer, crushing their bodies together. Dean could sink into Benny so easily. His coat swallowed him. His hands on the back of his head and between his shoulder blades were so strong and broad that it was like they could hold him up.
The ship was almost deserted when they made their way up on deck. The sailor on the night watch reached for her pistol, then relaxed when she recognized her captain and his guest. Benny tipped his cap to her as he passed by, his arm around Dean's waist.
Benny's cabin was nicer than Dean's. The room was bigger and better lit, as if Benny had actually cared to choose a room befitting his station when he picked out where he would sleep. But it wasn't gaudy or pretentious, like the quarters of some captains. The furniture was plain wood, the bed sheets were plain linen, and the predominant decoration was stacks of books. Much like its inhabitant, it was just on the comfortable side of spartan.
Benny's arm slipped free of Dean's side as he strode into the room purposefully. He shed his clothes as he walked. His coat and shirt he unbuttoned with barely a thought, and shrugged them off with a tiny roll of his shoulders. They fell on the floor in a heap. He unbuckled his belt, and with a dip of his hips his trousers fell off his legs. He stepped out them, kicking his shoes off as he went. In three steps all his clothes had fallen away from him, as quickly as if nakedness were his natural state and he were merely returning to it.
His shoulders, if possible, were even broader without the coat over them. His limbs were thick and his skin bronzed by the Caribbean sun. Once across the room, he pulled the chair out from his desk and spun it around so that it stood in the middle of the floor, facing Dean. Then he sat down, and Dean was reminded that Benny's kindness and warmth and genuineness aside, he also had the biggest cock that Dean had ever had the pleasure of fucking.
Benny leaned back and spread his legs, affording Dean the best possible view from where he was still standing clothed and speechless in the doorway. Benny raised his hands and beckoned. "Come here," he said.
Dean didn't have to be told twice. He kicked the door closed behind him and stripped. He was somewhat less graceful than Benny had been - his shirt got stuck halfway over his head and one trouser leg stubbornly refused to come off his ankle. Benny just watched with an amused smile on his face until Dean managed to get free.
"Shut up," said Dean. He stepped forward until he was standing over Benny, straddling his lap. Even without being touched, his cock was pulsing its way to hardness right in front of Benny's face.
"I didn't say nothing," said Benny, leaning forward. In one smooth movement, he rolled a condom onto Dean's cock and lapped it into his mouth. He closed his lips around him as easily and casually as if he were kissing him.
A jolt went through Dean's legs as he swelled against Benny's tongue, and he had to put his hands on Benny's shoulders to steady himself. Benny's rough hands ran up the backs of his thighs and gripped his buttocks to draw him in closer until Benny's nose was brushing the hairs at Dean's groin. He held him there a moment, deep enough that he couldn't breathe, his eyes closed as he savored the taste and sensation of Dean in his mouth and in his hands.
Benny fucked with such a warm familiarity. Even from the first time, it had always been as if their bodies had known each other, known how to fit together and give each other pleasure. There was no pretention to the man and no hesitation. He sucked Dean's cock like it belonged in his mouth, and he cherished Dean's body like a gift.
At first Benny's eyes kept flicking upwards to watch as Dean's face went slack and dreamy. Only when he was satisfied that Dean was enjoying himself did he close his eyes. Dean's eyes fluttered shut too, his fingers kneading at the thick muscle where Benny's shoulders met his neck and creeping up to toy with the soft hair at his nape. He pressed with two fingers at the base of Benny's skull, softly, just barely asking for more.
Benny answered by letting go of Dean with one hand and reaching behind himself toward the desk. There was a little pot of oil there; Benny flipped the lid off with practiced ease and dipped his fingers into it.
Dean didn't bother holding back a breathy sigh of pleasure as Benny worked his slippery fingers between the cheeks of Dean's ass to rest against his hole. He traced tiny circles there, spreading the oil around and coaxing Dean open. He'd stopped sucking. Dean's cock rested atop his lower lip, twitching each time his fingers probed a little deeper.
Before entering him, Benny lifted his eyes and quirked his eyebrows, asking silent permission. Dean nodded so hard that his dick bobbed up and down against Benny's mouth.
First one finger, then two, as easy as anything. With a wicked, open-mouthed grin, Benny crooked his fingers and pulled Dean toward him, drawing Dean's cock deeper into his mouth by the pressure on Dean's prostate. Dean had to collapse forward, his hands braced against the desk behind the chair, his mouth gaping and gasping. Benny tugged insistently, rhythmically, and soon Dean's hips were working to keep up with him, thrusting in and out of his mouth as Benny's head rested lazily against the chair back.
He pushed and pulled, and sucked, the pressure of it so intense that Dean barely noticed when he slipped a third finger in beside the first two. It was all he could do to follow the motion of Benny's hand, trying to match the pace even as his legs trembled and he clenched around Benny's fingers with the effort and pleasure of it.
When Benny pulled him all the way in, Dean's balls resting against his beard, and kept pulling with his fingers curved wickedly against Dean's prostate, Dean could help but let out a moan that was higher-pitched than he'd meant it to be. And Benny, that bastard - Dean could actually feel him smiling around his mouthful at the noises he was teasing out of Dean.
Dean's hand scrabbled over the surface of the desk, working behind Benny's back to find the little drawer on the far right where he knew the rest of his condoms were hidden. When he finally found what he was looking for, he reluctantly backed off of Benny's fingers, out of his mouth, to kneel between his legs and slide the condom on. And, fuck, it was bigger than he remembered. He could barely get his fingers around it. He ended up having to use both hands to unroll the condom past the bulging mushroom-shaped head and down the thick, veiny shaft that was getting harder with every touch.
"Do you have to jack off with two hands?" said Dean with a smirk as he grabbed the pot of oil and poured some over Benny's cock.
Benny gave a pleased little grunt as Dean smeared the oil around. "Don't need to. I can usually find someone to do that for me." Then, as Dean stood to straddle his lap again, he added, "You good like this? You don't wanna move it to the bed?"
"Nah, this is good." He bent his knees slowly, bracing himself with one hand behind Benny's neck as he lowered himself down. With his other hand he guided the slippery rod between the cheeks of his ass until the tip of it was poking at his opening. He felt so loose, so ready, but he could also feel Benny's girth pressing outward against his cheeks and reminding him of how tight a fit it could be. He mumbled, face flushing, "You remember, right?"
Benny nodded seriously and cupped Dean's face in his hands. "Yeah, I know. I don't thrust up, I don't push you down. I don't move. You go your own pace."
"Thanks."
"You don't need to thank me for not hurting you."
It was going to hurt no matter what. But that was part of it. As Dean bent his legs farther, letting his weight settle, letting Benny's cock prod deeper until the head of it was nosing its way inside and stretching him open as it went, he quickly reached the limits of his comfort and pushed through into a warm, stinging pain. He sobbed out a laugh as the flared head slid past his sphincter. It hurt. But he was riding the edge of his own limits, and he was in control. Benny was all warmth and security, a gentle bear of a man, and Dean ached to be wrapped up in him, to press himself against him and invite him deep inside. And that was worth a little pain. In fact, the pain made it better. So Dean sat down into Benny's lap inch by inch, panting and straining, willing himself open.
Benny's hands came up to rest on Dean's hips, but true to his word he didn't push Dean in any direction. He just rubbed little comforting circles on Dean's flanks with his fingertips. The calmness of his hands was at odds with the tension in his face - he breathed through gritted teeth and stared into Dean's eyes with a wildness brought on by overwhelming pleasure, the muscles of his neck fluttering with the effort to keep his body still. But his hands moved smoothly to stroke up and down Dean's back, loving every inch of his skin that they could reach.
By the time Dean's butt settled flush against Benny's pelvis and thighs, Dean was collapsed against Benny's shoulder, shaking, each breath a reedy little sigh. Benny turned his head and kissed him. Dean did his best to participate, but his mouth couldn't do much more than gape and gasp at the overwhelming sensation of fullness that was gripping his whole body. Benny sucked at his lips and kissed his way across Dean's cheeks anyway. By the time he'd made his way down Dean's neck and was nipping at his collarbones, Dean had planted his feet back on the floor and was slowly rolling his hips up and down, impaling himself on Benny's huge cock again and again.
Soon it was Benny who was coming apart, and Dean who was kissing back savagely. The more the pain ebbed the faster he went. His thighs shook every time he lifted himself up; there was a wet slapping sound as his ass met Benny's groin every time he let himself fall back down.
"Fuck..." Benny groaned, face pressed against Dean's chest and fingers digging into his back. "Dean, baby, I can't hold out."
Dean rode him even faster. "It's okay. It's okay. I want you to."
All he needed was permission. Benny let go with a shout, and Dean kept fucking him right through his orgasm, never slowing until Benny slumped backwards, spent.
Dean could barely feel his legs as he lifted himself off of Benny's lap and stood. He stumbled a few steps, then collapsed backwards onto the bed with a weak, giddy chuckle. His cock flopped limply against his thigh. Benny's girth was so overwhelming that he could never seem to get hard at the same time as getting fucked. But after only a minute or two to recover, a pleasurable little twinge seemed to signal his readiness. He reached down and began to lazily stroke himself.
He responded quickly. But just as he was getting hard, Benny leaped out of his chair and swatted Dean's hand away. "Let me do that," he said. A few more pumps of his hand and Dean was standing at attention. Benny produced another condom and slid it on.
"No arguments here," Dean sighed, leaning back and enjoying the warm, wet, pressure of Benny's mouth through the thin barrier of the condom.
Dean's hands relaxed at his sides. Benny reached up and found them, lacing their fingers together and holding on as if they were the only things keeping each other from falling.
Dean arched and bucked, and finally shuddered and whimpered as he came, too well-fucked to last for more than a minute. His hands clenched on Benny's. Benny matched him for strength as he sucked the last few moans out of Dean.
Both too tired to move, Dean fell asleep on his back in the damp of his own sweat and come. Benny curled up with his head resting on Dean's inner thigh, his face nuzzled up against Dean's balls.
They slept like stones.
-----
The sky outside the porthole had long since gone dark, and Castiel was still swishing impatiently in his basin of lukewarm water, alone. The floor was criss-crossed with shiny, drying trails from where he had dragged himself around the room, inspecting everything that might have been of interest. He'd picked through most of Dean's books. When he ran out of ones with pictures, he resorted to studying the assemblages of printed letters on the pages as if he could draw some meaning from them by the sheer power of his boredom.
Dean hadn't made any particular promises about when he'd be back, but Castiel had become accustomed to seeing him in the evening. Now, as the moon climbed in the sky, Castiel grew more and more nervous. Something could have happened to Dean. The ship could be in danger. The world could be ending for all he knew, confined to this little cabin far from home. As long as he was here, he was more or less helpless.
It was pathetic how quickly he perked up when he heard something jiggling in the lock and the door slowly sliding open. "Dean?" he called out softly.
The figure in the shadow of the doorway flinched at the sound of Castiel's voice. By the time Castiel realized that the man in the doorway was not Dean, he had already entered, closed the door behind him, and removed his pistol from its holster. "My God," he said. "He really was hiding something."
It was the same voice that Castiel had heard argue with Dean outside the cabin door - Creedy.
"Who the hell are you?" Creedy whispered. He held his gun by his side. His wide eyes searched Castiel again and again.
Castiel sat as still as a statue, his elbows propped on the edge of the basin, his lower body hidden beneath the dark, glassy surface of the water. He was silent. There was nothing he could say to make this situation any better.
"What..." Creedy seemed paralyzed by his own confusion. Whatever he'd been expecting to find in here, Castiel wasn't it. "What are you..." He inched closer and closer to the basin, his fingers tight around the grip of the pistol. By watching Creedy's eyes, Castiel saw the exact moment when he drew close enough for the water's surface to change from dark and reflective to moonlit and transparent. He glimpsed the tangle of tentacles in the bottom of the basin. It took another second for him to realize that those tentacles were attached to Castiel.
That's when he finally raised his gun.
He leapt back as he did it, flailing, panicked, trying to put some distance between himself and the monster he had discovered. But the cabin was small, and Castiel's tentacles were long. He snapped the pistol out of Creedy's hand before it could even finish rising to find its target.
"Listen to me, please..." Castiel said, his tentacle holding Creedy's wrist tight, but it was far too late for words. Creedy pulled a dagger out of his belt with his free hand and slashed at Castiel. He swung the blade in every direction, trying to hit something, anything. He was wild. There would be no reasoning with him.
Castiel fought down a twinge of sympathy as he easily dodged the dagger and lashed a tentacle around Creedy's other wrist. The man had no idea how outmatched he was. The gun had been his one advantage, and he'd wasted it by getting too close. Now he was hand-to-hand with Castiel, one-on-one, and near water. And even though the water was nothing more than a wooden basin, it was still Castiel's element.
Creedy, finding his hands bound, tried to kick out as Castiel reeled him in. But he was weak compared to Castiel's vicelike grip, and he had so very few limbs. Soon they were all used up, tangled in Castiel's tentacles, and Castiel still had limbs left over to drag Creedy over the edge of the basin and hold his head under the surface until the thrashing stopped.
There was an awful stillness when it was done. Then practicality took over. When Castiel pulled the body out of the water, it was no longer a person. It was just an object that Castiel needed to remove from the room as quickly as possible. For the first time since leaving Stanford, Castiel pulled himself across the floor and exited the cabin.
The crew member on watch was slumped over against the railing, a lump forming on the back of his head. Castiel only looked close enough to confirm that he was still alive and breathing. Then he returned to the cabin, dragged the body out, and tossed it overboard. It sank readily into the dark water. With any luck, they would be long gone from Havana by the time it started to float.
Castiel returned to the cabin. He was about to climb back into his basin, but stopped just before touching the death-tainted water.
He almost dumped it out. But then he would have had to refill it, and a bucket popping in and out of a porthole in the quiet, still harbor would have been far too conspicuous. In the end he eased himself back into the water and sat there miserably through the night.
He didn't sleep.