(SGA/SPN) Flip Side for denyce

[aurilly]

Title: Flip Side
Author: skieswideopen
Fandoms: Stargate Atlantis, Supernatural
Characters: Dean Winchester; John Sheppard
Pairings: Dean Winchester/John Sheppard
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 5600
Spoilers: Set after season five of SGA and during season seven of SPN, but with only a few spoilers for either.
Warnings: A little more swearing than you'd see on either show, and about the same level of violence.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and Stargate Atlantis belong to their respective creators
A/N: Thank you to colls for the excellent and last minute beta job!

Summary: Dean heads to Republic, Washington to hunt down a trio of monsters whose young victims all appear to have died of old age.



Dean ducked low and came up fast with his knife, but the monster in front of him was faster. It side-stepped his attack with blurring speed and retaliated with a contemptuous blow to the face. Dean stumbled backwards, uncomfortably conscious of the other two monsters edging in on either side of him, and wondered again why the hell he'd decided that coming in by himself was a good idea. Not that he really had anyone to call on for back-up right now, of course, but he probably could have planned things a little better. Gotten them alone and taken them out one by one. Asked Bobby if there was another hunter in the area who was up for a one-time, no-commitment hunt. Anything but go up by himself against three monsters he wasn't even sure how to kill.

A pale hand reached out toward his throat. Dean slashed at it and the monster pulled back with a hiss. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Dean dodged around the creature and dove for the couch that had swallowed his gun early in the fight. He stretched an arm beneath the couch, fingers closing around reassuring metal just in time to hear a warning hiss. He yanked the gun out and rolled away as some sort of energy bolt struck the ground where he'd been, and when the hell had monsters started using guns? Especially big-ass ray guns?

Dean threw himself behind the couch as another energy bolt struck the floor behind him. He was only half-conscious of the cabin door opening, too busy focusing on not getting hit to do more than hope that whoever had just come in would have the good sense to turn and run. He knelt behind the couch, breathing hard, and got ready to get unload some cover fire before it occurred to them to try to flank him. He was bringing his gun up when a series of shots rang out. Ordinary gunfire, not the energy guns. Dean dropped to the floor until the shots stopped, then peered cautiously over the back of the couch. One of the creatures was on the ground; the other two were retreating toward the back bedroom with inhuman speed, long white hair flying behind them. The newcomer paused long enough to put two quick shots in the fallen creature's head, then turned and raced after the remaining monsters. There was a sound of glass breaking in the back, and then the new guy cursed and began shooting again.

"Fuck," Dean muttered as he hauled himself to his feet. He gave a quick glance at the dead creature--what the hell was that thing, anyway?--and then made his way to the back of the cabin. The stranger was standing at the broken window, firing steadily. He stopped as Dean entered the room and turned away from the window.

"They're gone," he said. It wasn't clear if that was meant to be a complaint or comfort. "You okay?" He gave Dean a quick once-over. Half-concern, half threat-assessment, Dean thought, and couldn't really complain because he was evaluating the other guy the same way. Dark hair peeking out from beneath a navy stocking cap. Dark jacket lightly dusted in snow. Jeans. Boots. Probably late thirties or so. Good looking in a lean, lanky sort of way. His Beretta was still in his hand, and the guy handled it easily enough that Dean figured he had a fair bit of experience. He would have guessed cop, except the guy had just taken down a monster without blinking. Fellow hunter, then, although the eyes weren't quite right. Not haunted enough, or maybe haunted in the wrong way. Still, he clearly knew what he was doing and what he was doing involved killing monsters, and that meant one way or another, he and Dean were on the same team.

Belatedly Dean realized that the guy was waiting for an answer. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks." He put his own gun away and watched as the other guy did the same. "What the hell were those things? I've never seen anything like that before."

"That's classified." The guy's mouth twisted on the words, as if he realized how ridiculous the statement sounded.

"Classified?" Dean said incredulously. Strike the fellow hunter theory, then. And the cop theory, too. "What do you...who the hell are you?"

The guy straightened a little. "Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, United States Air Force."

"Air Force," Dean repeated. Not exactly what he was expecting to hear, and not just because the guy's bearing didn't exactly scream military. "Since when does the Air Force hunt monsters?" Since when did the Air Force know about monsters?

The guy--Sheppard--sighed. "It's...complicated." He glanced toward the broken window behind him. Dean had been watching it too. The snow was falling fast, covering whatever tracks the creatures had left. "Look," Sheppard said, "I have to go get these things. You should head back into town. Stay inside until the situation's resolved. If you can, get the resort owners to go with you. It's not safe out here."

Like hell. "Sure," Dean said, trying to sound like a nervous civilian in over his head. "Whatever you say." There was no way any cover he had was going to hold up against the kind of checks the military would run on him. Better to stay out of Sheppard's way and watch from a distance. Follow the guy, kill the monsters when he wasn't looking, and move on to the next town before he asked too many questions. And then let Bobby know that the military was doing...something...with monsters.

"Good," Sheppard said uncertainly, like he'd been expecting more of an argument. "So, I'll...uh...see you around."

Not unless something went really wrong, Dean thought. Which was too bad in a way, because Sheppard really was good looking, and one of the few advantages of hunting without Sam was not having to deal with awkward questions. He ignored the twinge he felt at the thought of his brother. Sam, he told himself firmly, can take care of himself. Dean made himself smile at Sheppard instead, almost-but-not-quite flirting, knowing there was no chance it would go anywhere, because even if they did run into each other again, Sheppard was military with all that implied, and probably didn't swing that way anyway. "Good luck, man. I wouldn't want to be you."

Sheppard tilted his head in acknowledgement. "It's the job."

Dean turned to leave, then paused as something else occurred to him. "You're not heading out there alone, are you?" Military usually meant teams, after all, and if the woods were going to be teeming with airmen--or worse--he might need to clear out sooner rather than later, and come back after they were gone to make sure they'd taken care of things properly.

Sheppard grimaced. "Landlines aren't working--the folks in town said someone cut something when they were doing some work."

"And cellphones aren't working because of the storm," Dean said. Which was why he hadn't been able to get any help in figuring out what those things were while he was tracking them. He'd been planning to call Bobby when he got back to his room; apparently that was going to have to wait.

"They say it's almost a three-hour drive to good cell reception," Sheppard said. "And that's in good weather. In this weather--"

"You'll kill yourself trying." Dean had driven that route in a snowstorm. Once.

"That's what they tell me."

At least he didn't have to worry about Sheppard bringing in reinforcements for a couple of days. "Well, if you need anything," he said, and then stopped, because what kind of help was he going to offer that Sheppard would accept?

"I've dealt with worse," Sheppard said matter-of-factly. Dean thought it was intended to be reassuring.

It wasn't.

Dean drove the Impala far enough down the road that he thought he'd be safe from Sheppard's notice, then grabbed a couple more weapons from the trunk, tugged up the collar on his jacket, and began hiking back toward the resort, cursing the storm as he went. At least Sheppard wouldn't see him coming. And neither would the monsters. Of course, he and Sheppard wouldn't see the monsters coming either.

The snow hadn't left him much to follow, but he'd made note of the direction of the creatures' path when looking out the cabin window, and once he was in the trees, it was easier to find signs of which way they--and Sheppard--had gone. It became easier still when the sound of gunfire broke out somewhere ahead of him. Dean broke into a run, heading toward the sound of the shots, and then dropped into a crouch as he drew closer.

The shots stopped abruptly, and Dean slowed down more. Stealth had never been his strongest suit, but the last thing he needed was to run straight into the middle of a combat situation. And staying hidden was pretty much his plan regardless of who was winning. If Sheppard had taken out the creatures, all he needed to do was sneak in and double-check that they were dead after Sheppard cleared out, and then he could head back to his toasty motel room until the snow cleared. If, on the other hand, the creatures had taken Sheppard, stealth would become important for a whole different reason.

When Dean finally got them in sight, he was confronted with the worst case scenario. Sheppard was flat on the ground, unmoving. One of the creatures was standing above him, death-ray-gun in hand; the other was kneeling over him in a way that suggested Sheppard might not be quite dead yet.

Dean aimed carefully, going for the one that was standing. Three quick shots and the creature was down. The remaining creature grabbed its gun. Dean got off one more shot and then ducked behind a tree. Instead of return fire, he heard the crunch of retreating footsteps. He stepped out and began firing at the back of the retreating creature, but soon gave it up as useless. The combination of snow and the creature's speed made it nearly impossible to hit.

He made a point of following Sheppard's example and putting two more bullets in the downed creature's head before he knelt to check on Sheppard. No obvious injures, and Sheppard was still breathing. So maybe they weren't death-ray-guns after all. His relief faded somewhat when he realized that Sheppard was unconscious.

"We can't stay out here," he said. Dean holstered his gun and lifted Sheppard onto his shoulders, grunting at the weight. "You're heavier than you look, buddy."

They hadn't, fortunately, made it too far into the woods, which meant he was only panting a little by the time he got Sheppard to one of the cabins. He opted for a different cabin than the one they'd fought in on the grounds that intact windows would do a better job of keeping out the cold.

He picked the lock on the door--wishing he'd remembered to bring his gloves--then hauled Sheppard inside and dumped him on the bed. Sheppard was still completely out, which was starting to worry Dean. He stripped off Sheppard's hat and coat and did a more careful check for injuries, but there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the guy apart from the fact that he wouldn't wake up. A quick search of his pockets produced car keys, extra ammo, and a wallet and ID that said he was exactly who he claimed to be, despite the non-reg hair. Dean slid his wallet back into his pocket, draped Sheppard in some extra blankets, and settled in to wait.

Three hours later, Dean was starting to think he might have to drive Sheppard into town and try out his best lies on the town doctor. He was about ready to go get the Impala when Sheppard finally stirred, groaning. He lay still for a moment, blinking, then pushed himself up on his elbows and turned his head to look at Dean.

"Where am I?"

"Back at the resort," Dean said. "In one of the cabins. I thought it was better than hanging out in the woods, especially after you decided to take your little nap."

Sheppard pulled himself into a sitting position and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Thanks for that." His tone was wryly laidback; the look he gave Dean was anything but. Dean had the disconcerting sense that Sheppard was seeing a hell of a lot more than Dean wanted him to.

"Yeah, well, just evening things up. You saved my life, I saved yours." Dean stood up and stretched casually, contemplating his next move. It probably ought to involve getting away before Sheppard started asking too many questions. Or at least distracting him from asking the wrong questions. "Do you want anything? I think they might have some hot chocolate in the kitchen. Or maybe some coffee."

Sheppard wasn't biting. "Who are you?" he asked bluntly.

Dean contemplated the possibility of just making a break for it. Sheppard wasn't in any condition to chase him--yet--which meant there was a pretty good chance he'd get away. On the other hand, Sheppard was already suspicious, and might decide to track him down later. Whereas if Dean stuck around, he might be able to allay Sheppard's suspicions and get some information on what those things were, which might help when it came time to hunt down the last one. "The name's Harrison. Mark Harrison. I'm here on vacation."

Sheppard smirked. "Star Wars fan, huh?"

Damn, the man was quick. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sheppard let it go, turning in another direction instead. "You followed me." It was a little too flat to be an accusation, but it sure as hell wasn't a question.

Dean shrugged, keeping his face carefully neutral. "More like I tumbled across you."

"While taking a leisurely walk in Wraith-filled woods after I warned you to head back to town."

"Wraith? Is that what they were?" They hadn't looked like any sort of wraith Dean had ever encountered.

Sheppard twisted on the bed, swinging his legs over the side. "I go off to fight something that isn't even human and you follow me. After nearly getting killed in that cabin. Why?"

"I thought you might need help." Which was half-true. It hadn't been his primary reason for going after Sheppard, but the thought had crossed his mind. It was better than the full truth, because somehow he didn't think Sheppard would appreciate hearing that Dean hadn't trusted him to do an adequate job getting rid of the monsters. Even if Dean had been proven right in the end.

"Most people would have gotten out of there," Sheppard said.

"Well, I'm not most people."

Sheppard studied him, frowning. "Ex-military?"

"Not exactly." Not unless you counted growing up in the three-man army founded and run by John Winchester.

"What, then?"

"I'm civically-minded," Dean said, straight-faced. "I like to do my part to keep the community safe." He assumed that if the military knew about monsters, it must have encountered a hunter somewhere along the line too, but he didn't see in letting Sheppard know he fell into that cateogry. If the military considered information about monsters to be a national secret, well, who knew what they'd do if they found out how much Dean knew?

"Do you always take a gun on vacation with you?" Sheppard asked.

"I'm a big supporter of the Second Amendment."

Sheppard looked like he was going to say something in response to that, then visibly changed his mind. "Okay, look. I really shouldn't be asking you this, but you obviously know what you're doing and I don't have any way to call in back-up and I really need to track these things down before--"

"There's just one of them left," Dean interrupted. "I got took one of them down when I came after you."

Sheppard's eyes widened subtly in surprise. Score one for Dean. "Nice. So just the one then."

"Yeah."

"Are you up for it?"

It was probably the best he could hope for under the circumstances; he'd make sure the creature was properly taken care of, maybe get a line on what the military had planned in the area of monster hunting, and with the two of them cut off from civilization, there was a good chance he'd be able to get away before Sheppard had the opportunity to do any sort of in-depth background check on him. "I'm in."

"There's just one thing," Sheppard said. "We need to take it alive. There could be more of them; we need to question this one to find out."

"What? Are you crazy? Those things have nearly killed both of us twice and you want to try to take it alive?"

"We have to," Sheppard insisted. "We need the intel."

"Wait...you're saying those things can talk?" Not one of the had uttered a word during the entire fight.

"Oh, they can talk alright. Mostly they just don't have anything to say to us. As far as they're concerned, we're just food."

"Food." Dean had seen what was left of the creatures' victims. They hadn't looked like they'd been eaten; more...aged. A twenty-one-year-old turned into a eighty-year-old overnight. He'd already been in town investigating the disappearances when they found the body of the first victim; that had been what convinced him he was dealing with something supernatural and not just a series of bizarre accidents or your standard serial killer at work.

"They have a whole life-force consumption thing going on," Sheppard said. "That's how their victims end up looking so old."

It wasn't anything Dean had encountered before, but it made sense if they really were some variant on wraith. "How do they do it?" Dean asked, narrowing his focus to the job. "I mean, am I looking for fangs or tentacles or--"

"They feed through their hands," Sheppard said. "Try not to let them touch your chest."

Dean nodded. "Keep all hands away from my chest if I want to keep my youthful good looks. Got it."

An amused expression flashed over Sheppard's face. Behind it was something else...appreciation? Dean filed the thought away for later. "Anything else I should know?" he asked.

"They're fast," Sheppard said. "And they regenerate, so be careful even if they look like they're down."

"That why you double-tapped that one?"

"Yeah," Sheppard said. "But this time--"

"We need it alive." Dean figured they could argue that point later. Or maybe the Wraith wouldn't leave them with a choice, sparing them the argument. "Do you have any idea where it would go?"

Sheppard pushed the blankets aside and stood up gingerly, wincing a little, like his legs were asleep. "I have a thing in my car that we can use the track the energy signature of its gun. We shouldn't have trouble finding it."

Sheppard's tracker a futuristic-looking gadget, unevenly rectangular and softly glowing. Dean asked for a closer look and after a brief hesitation, Sheppard handed it over. Dean couldn't tell what it was made of, but it wasn't any material he was familiar with. He examined the screen with its multiple blue dots. "How do we know which one is the Wraith?"

"None of them, right now," Sheppard said. "The energy signature will show up in red when once we're close enough to detect it. What you're seeing now are life signs."

"So we wander the woods until we get a red dot."

"Pretty much," Sheppard agreed, reclaiming the device.

"That could take a while."

"Not as long as it used to. They've increased the range on these things a lot."

The snow had mostly stopped by the time they set out, but enough had accumulated to slow them down. They traveled single-file, taking turns in the lead, which made walking marginally easier and would have given Dean a terrific view of Sheppard's ass, if only his coat were a little shorter.

"Are you from around here?" Sheppard asked.

"Nah," Dean said. "Just visiting." If it were someone else, he might have thought they were just making small-talk, but he was pretty sure Sheppard was digging for something deeper. Which meant it was probably a good idea to change topics. "What about you? Where do you call home?"

"Oh, I get around," Sheppard said vaguely, waving a hand. "You know the Air Force."

"Yeah, I couldn't have done that," Dean said.

Sheppard glanced back at him. "The travel?"

"The flying."

"The flying's the best part."

"Not for me."

"You don't know what you're missing," Sheppard said. He glanced down at the tracking device.

"Nothing yet?" Dean asked. He blew on his hands and rubbed his hands together. Pockets, as it turned out, could only do so much.

"Not yet," Sheppard said. He gestured Dean ahead of him and took up the rear position. "So are you ever going to tell me what you really do?"

"I don't--" Dean began, and then stopped as the sound of desperate screams filled the air. "What the hell is that?"

"I don't know," Sheppard said grimly. He stowed the tracker in his pocket and pulled out his gun. Dean already had his drawn. The two of them turned east, wading through the snow as quickly as they could toward the sound.

The screaming had stopped by the time they got there, but there was no mistaking the spot. They stopped on the edge of the site, trying to stay downwind from the smell.

"What the hell?" Sheppard asked, tilting his head as he studied the body. "What is that thing?"

Dean moved a bit closer, circling to get a better view. For a minute he contemplated feigning ignorance, but if this thing was what he thought it was, Sheppard was going to need to know, and apparently there were some things the Air Force hadn't stumbled over yet. "I think it's a Sasquatch."

"A what?" Sheppard joined him, staring down at the grey-furred creature in fascination, wrinkling his nose against the smell.

"Sasquatch. You know...Bigfoot?"

"I always thought Bigfoot was what came out of people consuming too much of the local weed."

"Yeah, me too, until recently," Dean said. "But that's not the problem."

"Why do I have a feeling I'm not going to like this part?"

"These things come in pairs," Dean said, gesturing toward the dead Sasquatch. "They mate. For life. And when you kill one…"

"You're saying we've got a pissed-off, grieving Bigfoot to deal with on top of the Wraith."

"Or the Wraith has a pissed-off, grieving Bigfoot on its trail," Dean agreed. "Is it just me, or does this thing look awfully old?"

Sheppard studied it thoughtfully. "Did you manage to shoot the Wraith?"

"Maybe," Dean said. "It was hard to tell--it was moving pretty fast."

"They need to feed to heal," Sheppard said. "If you hit it...maybe it couldn't find any humans to feed off of."

"Must have been pretty desperate to feed on something that smells like this."

"I'm not sure the Wraith perceive the world the way we do," Sheppard said. "And it sounded human enough when it screamed."

"Yeah." Dean shivered and not just from the cold.

"So," Sheppard said. "Do you want to tell me exactly what it is you do, Mark?"

Dean sighed. Time to bite the bullet and hope for the best. "The name's not really Mark, it's Dean," he said. "I'm a hunter."

Sheppard looked less enlightened by that statement than Dean had expected.

"What do you hunt?"

Maybe they just hadn't heard the term. "Monsters," Dean said. "Same as you, apparently." But no, Sheppard still looked puzzled.

"What kind of monsters?"

"What do you mean what kind of monsters?" Dean asked impatiently. "All kinds. Or at least all the ones that hurt people. Vampires, demons, ghouls, ghosts...you name it, I've killed it. Look, you can't tell me the Air Force stumbled across a bunch of Wraith and then just stopped. You guys know there are other things out there, right?"

"The Wraith aren't--" Sheppard began, and then stopped.

"You did," Dean said. "You have no idea, do you?" Which meant all of his dodging and weaving had been for nothing. Oh, he still couldn't have passed a background check, but Sheppard hadn't been on the lookout for a hunter. Wouldn't have believed Dean was anything but an ordinary civilian with maybe a bit more survival training than usual if Dean hadn't tipped him off. "Fuck."

Sheppard looked like he agreed with the sentiment.

Dean was about to say more--talk his way back a bit, maybe, if he could--when he caught a glint out of the corner of his eye. Distracted, he walked around the body and knelt down, conscious of Sheppard's eyes following him. He reached out and pulled the Wraith ray-gun out from beneath the dead Sasquatch. "So," he said, holding the gun up for Sheppard to see, "I think that screws up your tracker plan. You got any idea where this thing is likely to go?"

Sheppard stared at the gun, biting his lip thoughtfully, then seemed to make a decision. "Probably toward its ship."

"Ship?" Dean asked, standing up. He flipped the gun around in his hands, examining it. "Aren't we a bit far from the ocean?"

Sheppard shook his head. "Wrong kind of ship. This one...they've probably got it concealed in the woods somewhere. We'll be able to track its power source the same way we tracked the gun." His mouth twisted in a half-smile. "That's what got me sent here in the first place, you know. Abnormal power readings. They really should have sent McKay too."

"Hold up," Dean said. "Wrong kind of ship...what do you--" And then realization dawned. "You mean this thing has a spaceship? These are aliens?"

"They definitely aren't from Earth," Sheppard said.

"Aliens."

"You thought they were monsters." And again with the not-quite-questions.

"Uh, yeah." Not exactly your run-of-the-mill monster, maybe, but standard enough in Dean's life. And, he'd thought, in Sheppard's too. "You're telling me we have aliens. On Earth."

"I'm hoping just the one," Sheppard said. "We need to get it before it can tell the rest of them where we are."

"Where we are…you mean the planet?"

"Yeah," Sheppard said. "If they find out where Earth is, massive numbers of them will come here to feed." He pulled out the tracking device again and began circling around the body. "See any footprints?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said, scanning the snow. "Over here."

The deep snow left them with a clear trail to follow. This time they walked side-by-side, with Sheppard keeping a close eye on the tracker.

"So this whole thing is about stopping an alien invasion," Dean said. "I mean that's…"

"Just as unbelievable as ghosts and demons?" Sheppard suggested.

"I wasn't going to say unbelievable," Dean said. "It's actually kind of cool. Okay, not the invasion part, but...aliens, man. So does this mean we have some sort of fleet of ships up there? Is that how we found out about them?"

Sheppard just looked at him.

"Let me guess...classified."

"The good stuff usually is," Sheppard said. He stopped abruptly, gesturing for Dean to do the same. "I'm picking something up," he said softly.

Dean nodded and brought up his gun. Sheppard pointed ahead and to the right, and then transferred the tracker to his left hand and drew his own gun. Dean let Sheppard take the lead, keeping half-a-step behind him. They were almost there when the screaming started again. This time, however, the sound was distinctly inhuman.

They rushed as fast as they could, but the Sasquatch's mate was gone by the time they got there. The Wraith was still present, however. At least what was left of it. Most of it was draped across its ship or scattered on the snow.

"I'll get the tech guys in to check the ship once the storm clears," Sheppard said. "Hopefully they'll be able to figure out how the Wraith got here, and who they told."

"Make sure we're not looking at a full-scale invasion?"

"It'd take more than this little ship to signal the others," Sheppard said. "As long as there isn't a hive ship in orbit right now, we're probably fine."

Dean found that about as comforting as the rest of Sheppard's attempts at reassurance.

They hiked back to the cabins in companionable silence. Sheppard hadn't said anything to indicate that he was planning to turn Dean in to any sort of authorities, which Dean took to mean he was probably okay, although he was still planning to get the hell out of dodge as soon as the weather allowed. And in the meantime…

Sheppard broke the silence when they reached his car. "Normally in this kind of situation, there'd be lawyers and paperwork and non-disclosure agreements, but I have a feeling you're a guy who knows how to keep a secret."

Dean laughed, bitterness sliding in beneath his genuine amusement. "Who'd believe me anyway?" Well, apart from Sam and Bobby, both of whom were going to hear the whole thing just as soon as Dean saw them. But other than that...Dean wasn't sure there were any other hunters he could tell who'd believe him, let alone civilians.

"Let me give you a ride into town," Sheppard said. "I'll buy you a beer as a thank you. You probably deserve more for helping to save the planet, but that would mean official attention, and I have a feeling that's something you try to avoid right now."

"A beer's more thanks than I usually get," Dean said, "but I've got my own ride. Meet you there?"

"Sure," Sheppard agreed easily.

Two hours and three beers later, the two of them were pushed up against the door to Dean's motel room as Dean tried to swipe the key card with one hand while the other stayed tangled in Sheppard's hair as Sheppard kissed his way along Dean's jawline. Dean finally got the door open and the two of them stumbled inside, nearly tripping over each other as Sheppard urged him toward the bed.

"You got somewhere to be or something?" Dean asked as Sheppard shoved both of their coats to the ground before pushing Dean backwards onto the bed.

"Sorry," Sheppard said. "It's been a while." But he slowed down a bit then, taking the time to actually unbutton Dean's shirt instead of just yanking it off.

It had been a while for Dean too. Well, longer than usual, anyway, and longer still since he'd done it with a guy. He'd forgotten how much fun it could be, making another guy gasp and moan with just his mouth.

Sheppard's hand tightened in his hair and he dipped his head lower, pulling Sheppard as far into his mouth as he could, angling to keep his eyes on Sheppard's face. Dean sucked hard and Sheppard's hips bucked once as he came, and god, he really was pretty. Especially like this. Dean pulled off and swallowed, letting his head drop to the bed beside Sheppard's thigh.

"Come here." Sheppard's hand cupped the base of his head, pulling him up. Dean came willingly, letting Sheppard pull him in for a kiss.

"You know, I really didn't think you'd go for this," he said, pulling back so that he could see Sheppard's face.

"Why not?"

"Oh, you know. The whole gay-military thing. Plus the fact that you think I'm crazy for believing in monsters."

"I saw a dead Sasquatch today," Sheppard said. "And we spent the day chasing aliens through the woods. I don't think I'm in a position to question your sanity."

"You telling me you believe in all the other things I told you about?"

"Are you sure this is what you want to be talking about right now?" Sheppard asked, sliding his fingers around Dean's dick. Dean thrust into Sheppard's grip. "Didn't think so," Sheppard said, and Dean shut up.

Sheppard, it turned out, was very good with his mouth.

"Where are you off to after this?" he asked Dean afterward.

"I don't know," Dean said lazily. "East probably. Depends on what comes up. You?"

"Colorado via California," Sheppard said. "I'm back and forth there a lot these days."

"Different directions."

"Sounds like it," Sheppard agreed. "If you make it down to San Francisco in the next couple of months, look me up."

"And if it's more than a couple of months?"

"Then hopefully I won't be there anymore," Sheppard said. "But I'll be back in Colorado Springs occasionally, if you make it out that way."

The roads were clear enough the following afternoon for Dean to take off, and he took advantage of it, wanting to be gone before Sheppard brought his people in. He'd figured the Sheppard's invitation was just one of those things you say after sex, but Sheppard kissed him hard before he hit the road, and slipped him a card with a phone number. To his own bemusement, Dean slid the card into his wallet, not quite believing he'd ever call the number on it, but not ready to throw it away.

Sheppard came out to see him off before setting off on his own three-hour trip into Good Cellphone Territory. "See you around," he said, and Dean almost believed it could happen.

The sight of Sheppard surrounded by snow, hands shoved into his pockets, was the last image Dean carried with him as he drove out of town.

-END-

Prompts:
-In an unfair fight character A rescues character B
-Sheppard/Dean Winchester (romantic)