The One Where it's Christmas
Title: The One Where it's Christmas
'Verse:
anywhere_road
Author: Sophie /
razorxrosary
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Andy/Ash
Rating: This part: NC-17. Verse: NC-17.
Word count: ~4686
Warnings and Disclaimer: Please see the
anywhere_road community user info.
Summary: "If he has to spend Christmas Day in the local A&E, he tells himself, he will personally flush that little baggie of emergency weed that Ash thinks he doesn’t know about down the toilet." Andy and Ash's first Christmas on the road.
Author notes: I'm only, what, four months too late with this? Originally written based on a prompt
kat_lair gave me back in November. Chronologically, this occurs after ' The One with the Broken Van and a Blow Job', which is referenced here. Betaed, as always, by the exquisite
virtualinsomnia.
The One Where It's Christmas
“Wow”, Ash crows. “That was sweet.”
Andy privately thinks that spending Christmas Eve chasing a water horse in New Orleans is as far from ‘sweet’ as it’s possible to get. Especially since most of their time is spent jumping on the thing whenever it breaks the surface, only to wind up getting dragged down into the murky, muddy water. And especially when it begins to lighten into Christmas Day as they limp home, Ash leaning heavily on Andy’s shoulder and both of them stinking of bog water.
Ash allows a moment of respectful silence before he whoops and throws a hand in the air.
“Are you-” Andy manages to avoid a particularly nasty pothole, but only barely. The two of them sway to the side like a pair of drunks. “Are you throwing the horns? Seriously?”
“Yeah, why not?” Ash asks, his wide grin never faltering. “We wasted that thing, man.” He whoops again, loudly, right in Andy’s ear.
“You’re fucked up,” Andy tells him, although he can’t help but grin, even if it’s more of a grimace. “It’s your leg. You’re probably in shock.” He tries not to think about it, but his mind is running through the possibilities. He’s a smart guy; he knows roughly how many ways a leg can fracture and what it’ll take to get it repaired.
If he has to spend Christmas Day in the local A&E, he tells himself, he will personally flush that little baggie of emergency weed that Ash thinks he doesn’t know about down the toilet.
“If I have to take your sorry ass to the hospital, I am going to flush your emergency weed down the toilet,” he tells Ash.
“What emergency weed?” Ash says, and oh, he’s good. He almost sounds convincing.
“It’s hard to keep secrets from somebody when you’re with them twenty-four seven,” Andy says dryly. He ignores the fresh stab of guilt that provides. He’ll tell Ash that his powers are changing, he tells himself. Soon.
Ash must have noticed Andy’s change in mood, because when he speaks next, he sounds slightly more sober. “Come on,” he says, with slurred concern. “It’s Christmas.”
“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed. What with you almost dying in a lake, and then probably breaking your leg, so I have to drag you to hospital when everybody knows hospitals are packed this time of year because of all the drunk uncles tripping over shit.” Andy reminds himself that he’s not getting hysterical. He’s not. He just doesn’t have a strong enough stomach for this sort of thing. That’s all it is, really.
“Okay, first, that thing was a My Little Pony, so give me some credit. Second, I know what a broken bone feels like, and this ain't it,” says Ash. “Also? That was a reservoir, not a lake.”
“It’s a huge body of water, and you almost drowned in it,” Andy repeats, stubbornly. He spots the van through the trees and is so relieved that he may actually break down and cry.
Ash grumbles. He’s starting to look very pale. “Y’know, for a stoner, you’re one hell of a buzzkill.”
“Yeah, well.” Andy fishes the keys out of his pocket one-handed and allows himself a small moment of relief that they didn’t fall into the lake. Reservoir. Whatever. “Somebody’s got to look after your stupid ass.”
He settles Ash into the back of the van, wincing every time Ash draws in a hissed breath, trying not to move too suddenly and knock into anything. He’s uncomfortably aware of how handsy he gets when Ash is hurt; he can’t seem to let go of him for more than a second. He tries very hard not to think about how Ash’s leg might look, but the image of skin stretched and distended around a splinter of bone makes nausea rise in his throat-
“Dude,” Ash says, with a grimace. “Not that I don’t appreciate the love? But you smell like a toilet.”
***
By the time they get back to the hotel, Ash’s ankle has turned into an impressively muddy sunset of red and purple, but, as far as either of them can tell, it’s not actually broken.
“Maybe I should look on the internet,” suggests Andy. “I’m sure Wikipedia has a page.”
Ash gives Andy a look which is made no less terrifying by the fact that he is currently sprawled across the bed with one pant leg bunched around his knee. “Remind me again. What was it we said about you using my laptop?”
“That I shouldn’t, because either it would kill me, or you would?” Andy says. “Which I’d kind of like to see you try, what with your broken leg and all.”
“It’s not broken, would you quit fussin’ over it?”
Andy goes instantly and contritely silent. He can’t stop the worry that wells up inside him, though, any more than he can stop his fingers knotting in his sleeves, an old habit that he has yet to break. He bites his lip to the point of pain, but he can’t quite stop himself-
“It’s just… what if you’re hurt? And we didn’t know about it? What if you-”
“I’m fine,” Ash says firmly. “The only thing bothering me right now all this lake shit in my hair.”
The smallest of smiles touches Andy’s eyes. “It’s really not healthy to be that obsessed with something,” he says. “What are you, Samson?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about; you’ve got green in yours.”
Andy immediately raises both hands to his head.
“All I want now is a shower,” says Ash. He gets up, testing his weight on his injured foot with a wince. He doesn’t fail to notice the way Andy takes an aborted movement forward, but he chooses to ignore it. “Then I’m going to sleep for a week.”
Ash takes a hesitant, limping step in the direction of the bathroom, and hisses a breath through his teeth as pain lances through his leg. He wobbles dangerously, and Andy twitches, as if he’s about to try and catch him.
“Are you-” Andy’s hands flutter uncertainly. “Can you manage?”
Ash stares at him for a moment. “Man, you did not just offer to shower with me.”
“What?” says Andy. His eyes go wide. “No! Of course not!”
“You sure? Because it sounded like you did.”
Andy can feel himself blushing. “I just don’t want you to fall over and crack your head open, s’all,” he says, in the general direction of the floor. “I wasn’t-I wasn’t offering anything, I just-”
He hears the sound of Ash moving, the rustling of fabric, and looks up in time to see Ash pulling his shirt over his head. Andy’s face heats up instantly. He can feel the back of his ears burning and his mouth has gone suspiciously dry. When he swallows, his tongue makes a metallic clicking sound, like a gun being cocked.
“W-what are you doing?” he asks.
Ash gives him a look, as if it should be obvious. “I’m getting ready to shower, man. You coming?”
“You’re not-” Andy is momentarily distracted by Ash’s hips; his mind flashes back to that time in Nevada, those delicate rises of bone beneath his fingertips. “It’s not going to be, you know, weird?” he finishes, lamely.
“Only if you let it,” Ash says. He’s already limping towards the bathroom, wriggling his jeans off as he goes and-
Oh. If possible, Andy’s blush gets even hotter. He looks hurriedly at the wallpaper.
“Way I see it,” Ash’s voice drifts back to him, the sound amplified oddly by the tiles in the bathroom, “the sooner we both get cleaned up, the sooner we can start the celebrations.”
***
Andy allows himself the appropriate amount of time for freaking out. After all, it’s not like they’ve ever talked about this thing between them. They’d sucked each other off on a deserted road in the middle of Nevada and an hour later it was as if nothing had happened. Ash had slapped Andy’s thigh in a companionable fashion before pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes and falling asleep against the window. Whatever is happening between them, Ash still treats it like a casual hook-up between friends-and therein lies the problem. Andy’s tried to kid himself, really he has, but he’s getting too attached. When he’d turned around that one time and saw a zombie pulling Ash’s head back by his hair, Andy had responded with a surge of power stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. The sudden rush of fury, the vicious snarl of mine, was surely proof, more than anything, of how he felt about Ash.
They were more than just friends, now. They were partners. They spent days in each other’s space. Andy knew Ash well enough to know that he got all languid and loose-limbed after sex. He knew that Ash could technically drive, especially now that he’d cut back on the weed, but he preferred to curl up in the passenger seat and sleep. He knew that Ash hated his bacon crispy. He could even tell the rare times when Ash was about to get angry from the subtle shift in his body language. Generally, when he knew that much about a person, they were no longer a casual thing for him.
He was too invested. That was the problem.
“Yo, Andy,” Ash’s distant shout breaks through his thoughts. “You coming or not?”
Andy’s fingertips hesitate at the hem of his t-shirt, his lip caught between his teeth. For a split second, he considers saying no. In his head, the images flash together into one dizzying blur: the taste of Ash beneath his tongue, the sound he makes when Andy swallows around his cock, the image of him disappearing under the water with several hundred pounds of angry water monster. The fear is still bitter in his mouth.
Carefully, Andy peels his shirt over his head.
***
Ash is already in the shower by the time Andy reaches the bathroom. The steam rolls in carpets over the top of the curtain, and Andy can hear Ash singing something, a song he faintly recognises from the drive here. He reaches out to hook the curtain back and hesitates-
The decision is taken out of his hands when Ash jerks it open, blinking through the water streaming down his face. “Are you just going to stand there or-”
He trails off as he realises that Andy is still wearing his boxers and is looping his hands nervously over his wrists, like he wishes he could have sleeves to twist them into. Ash raises an eyebrow, and Andy ducks his head, unable to stop the embarrassment stuttering onto his face.
“Whatever, dude, come on.” Ash curls a hand around Andy’s arm and tugs him forward. “I’m about to fall on my ass in here.”
The shower really isn’t big enough for both of them to stand under the spray, but this doesn’t seem to dissuade Ash. He manhandles Andy’s unresisting body against him until they’re pressed closer than strictly decent, their legs tangled and their chests brushing with every breath. The first wave of water scalds Andy’s skin and he yelps and twists. The moment brings him closer to Ash, and for a moment he’s caught between the two, unsure of which he wants to jerk away from.
“Remind me why you thought this was a good idea?” he half-yells.
“Hey, this was all you,” says Ash. His hand is still curled around Andy’s wrist. With his other hand, he tugs on Andy’s boxers. “What’s with these?”
Andy is momentarily thankful that the water is streaming in his eyes, because he just knows his automatic reaction would be to look down at where Ash is naked. At least now he has an excuse to keep his eyes closed, as he scrubs his free hand through his hair. “Some of us don’t spend our whole life walking around naked,” he says.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” says Ash.
“Being arrested for public indecency?” says Andy, with a grin. “I can live without it.”
There’s a short pause, in which Andy washes his hair and tries very hard not to pay attention to the fact that Ash’s thigh is pressing against him in a decidedly intimate fashion. He wonders vaguely why it’s taking Ash so long to formulate a response-
“Andy,” says Ash. Then again. “Andy.”
The desperate, shivering note in Ash’s voice makes Andy open his eyes. For a moment, he’s distracted by the way the water makes Ash’s eyelashes clump together, smoky and dark. Ash’s hand is still curled around his wrist, and now his grip tightens minutely.
“Andy,” Ash says again, but softer. There’s no mistaking the heat in his eyes.
“What,” whispers Andy, and it’s not quite a question.
They’re drifting closer almost without realising it, tiny, inevitable movements, like the alignment of the planets, like the opening of a flower. Andy can’t hear the crash of the water over the pulse in his ears.
“What’re you doing?” he says, softly, his voice peaking on an odd note.
Maybe Ash senses that Andy’s resolve is weakening, or maybe it’s his own that he’s worried about, because he leans forward on a sharp inhale and captures Andy’s mouth. The heat rolls through Andy like thunder, a flash flood of desire, and he can’t stop his free hand from coming up to clutch at Ash’s short hair. Ash kisses like he’s trying to prove a point, deep, sucking kisses that steal their breath away, that make Andy curl into the curve of Ash’s body.
When Ash hauls his mouth away, he’s audibly gasping for air. “Andy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Andy murmurs, allowing Ash to crowd him back against the wall. He has to let go of Andy’s wrist to do it, and Andy automatically crosses them together just behind Ash’s neck. “Just… c’mon.”
This time he’s ready for Ash to crush their mouths together, open and wet, the sting of impact soothed by the slickness of Ash’s tongue. He makes a high, helpless sound in the back of his throat, and Ash responds by pressing him against the tiles, a barely-audible growl rising in his throat. It sends a thrill through Andy’s whole body. He doesn’t consider himself submissive, but something about the possessive curl of Ash’s hands still makes his breath come a bit quicker.
The new position means that Andy can feel where Ash’s dick is stiffening against his stomach. His own erection is already growing, arousal sparking through his blood.
Ash pulls away slowly, but Andy still tightens his hands against the back of his neck.
“Andy,” Ash says, practically moans it. “Need your mouth, dude. Don’t hold out on me.”
“Okay,” Andy breathes, “okay, yeah,” but the pressure on his shoulder increases minutely as Ash pushes him down, and he goes with it, sinks to his knees in one long, graceful slide.
Andy has done this before, but it doesn’t make it any less hot when he curls a hand around the base of Ash’s cock, and Ash’s whole body trembles. Despite the water all around them, Andy’s mouth feels suddenly dry. He scrapes his tongue across his lips and startles when Ash’s hand curls around the back of his neck. Not pushing, just resting there, but the idea that Ash might press him down is an intriguing one.
It’s not the same as last time. Ash is just as hot under his hands, but slippery with water instead of sweat, and the shower beneath his knees is uncomfortable and harsh. Andy is still dimly aware of the water running, can see it collecting in rivulets on Ash’s hips. He follows the path of the droplets with his eyes, down to Ash’s feet, where the bruise stands out starkly against the whiteness-
He doesn’t wait for Ash to push him, this time. He’s not that cruel. Instead, he can’t help but lean forward and lick, collecting the taste of water, skin and salt from the head of Ash’s cock. He tastes sharper than last time, without the musk of sweat, but it’s just as addictive. Andy takes the head into his mouth, sucking gently, his eyes slipping shut of their own volition and Ash’s fingertips tightening imperceptibly against the back of his neck.
Even if it had been in him to take it slow, the weight of Ash’s cock on his tongue carries some kind of urgency with it. He can’t help but curl his hands around Ash’s ass, drawing him further into his mouth.
Ash murmurs something, and then laughs-Andy can’t hear what he said above the rush of the shower and the pulse of his own blood, but he feels the vibration of it.
The hand in his hair moves slowly, petting the curve of his ear before moving down his cheek, to where his mouth is stretched around Ash’s cock. At the feel of fingertips stroking along the puffy seam of his lips, Andy shivers and whines low in his throat, his own hands clenching against Ash’s skin. He can feel Ash’s answering shudder, the way his hips stutter, like he can’t quite avoid thrusting.
Go on, Andy wants to say. I can handle it. Instead, he sucks harder, no longer in the mood for slow, his tongue lapping frantically and awkwardly at whatever flesh he can reach. His mouth is starting to ache, and he’s sure he’ll have bruises on his knees, but he doesn’t care. His whole world narrows down to Ash’s cock in his mouth, the weight of it, the taste of it. The sense-memory is almost overwhelming, like heat settling against his skin.
He is able to predict the exact moment when Ash comes, from the way Ash’s fingertips press into the edge of his mouth, the way he curls over Andy with a sound like pain. He pulls back just enough to be able to swallow, his tongue still licking, but gentler now.
He draws back slowly, Ash’s hands still heavy on his face, licking stray come from his lips. His mouth feels slick and swollen, and his tongue is dry, but he doesn’t mind as much when he can still taste Ash in his throat.
“Jesus, Andy,” Ash moans, and then he’s sliding to the floor and Andy barely has time to feel alarmed before Ash is kneeling in front of him, one hand still curled across his cheek.
“That good, huh?” Andy says, in a voice that’s been scraped raw.
In answer, Ash leans forwards and licks into Andy’s mouth in a strangely gentle gesture. His tongue chases his own taste across Andy’s mouth, slow and sweet. Andy realises that he’s still stiff in his shorts and lowers his hand to rub at the head of his erection with his palm. He’s surprised when Ash’s hand curls around his wrist, stopping his progress.
“I can do better,” Ash says, with a grin. “But you might have to lie down for it.”
“In the shower?” Andy tries to laugh, but he can’t stop the bolt of liquid heat that shoots through him at the thought.
Ash looks smug, like he knows exactly what Andy is thinking. “I was thinking in bed.”
Andy’s knees crack audibly when he stands up, and he almost loses his balance when Ash uses him to climb to his feet. Ash doesn’t seem concerned by the way Andy is trying to lock his kneecaps in place; instead, he turns the water off and hooks the curtain back. The sudden chill makes Andy flinch, but it’s more out of shock than anything genuinely unpleasant, although the sudden change makes him realise how clammy his boxers are.
Ash doesn’t ask for help getting out; instead, he just grips Andy’s shoulder and uses him.
“You might want to take these off,” Ash says, as he picks up a towel and begins drying himself off. He snaps the waistband of Andy’s boxers, and Andy twitches at the sting. “If you get the bed wet, you’ll have to sleep in it. Them’s the rules.”
Obediently, Andy goes to do just that, and stops. He is suddenly very aware of the way Ash is watching him, the way simply whipping his boxers off would be the most un-erotic thing he could do in this situation, like the lead-in to bad porn. The blush rises in his cheeks, and that same confusing arousal slips through him. He simply stares at Ash, feeling like a deer in the headlights, mouth curled open around some sort of excuse, a joke, anything.
Ash merely rolls his eyes and steps forward, one hand tilting Andy’s head up as he kisses him again.
Just like that, the temperature starts rising again. Andy allows himself to melt into the kiss as it becomes deep and dirty, and he’s dimly aware of Ash’s hands skating down his body, fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. The air is cool when it hits his skin, but he barely even notices; he’s too busy helping Ash push his boxers the rest of the way down.
“Go,” Ash murmurs, between sweeps of his tongue. “Go lie on the bed, Andy.”
He does, but he can’t seem to let go of Ash. They make an awkward couple, Ash not quite able to walk without a limp, and Andy unable to stop himself from rubbing against Ash’s hip.
The bed hits the back of Andy’s legs and he overbalances, ends up sitting down, tugging Ash with him. Still, they don’t let go of each other. Andy shuffles backwards as best he can, his grip on Ash’s arm ensuring that Ash comes with him. He’s fairly sure that he’d be happy if they just carried on making out like this, long and languid, but then Ash is pulling back, and there’s a new purpose to him as he trails open-mouthed kisses along Ash’s throat.
“Just you wait,” he’s saying, his voice vibrating across Andy’s skin as he nips at Andy’s throat, his collarbones. “Gonna be so good. Fuck.”
Andy wants to point out that he’s a little bit too far-gone for foreplay, but evidently that’s not what Ash has in mind. He doesn’t tease, he just keeps going straight down, until he’s lying between Andy’s legs, his hands resting on Andy’s hips. He’s looking at Andy’s cock in a way that might make him self-conscious, if he weren’t so turned-on.
“Dude,” Andy whines, “I don’t care what you do, just do something.”
He catches sight of Ash’s slow, sly smile, in the moments before Ash leans forwards and closes his mouth over the head of Andy’s cock.
Andy would love to watch, he would, but the first touch of wet heat makes him groan and fall back against the bed like all his strings have been cut. He briefly considers putting his hands on Ash’s head, but he’s not sure of his ability not to push, and he doesn’t want to do anything to stop this. Instead, he curls his hands into the sheets, until his knuckles feel like they might burst.
This is familiar, but Andy never gets over the feel of Ash’s mouth sliding around him, and he never really stops getting off on the intimacy of it. Ash is good at this, which is no surprise. He knows exactly how much to suck and what to do with his tongue, in order to make Andy whimper and arch and clutch uselessly at whatever’s near.
Ash pulls up slowly, tongue flirting with the length, the ridge under the head, and Andy makes the kind of girly, helpless sound that he’ll deny until his dying day.
He startles when Ash’s thumb brushes against his balls, and when that thumb starts venturing lower, he almost hyperventilates. He can feel the sweat beading along his body, the pleasure of it drawing tighter and tighter, along with the anticipation.
When Ash presses his thumb, lightly but firmly, against Andy’s hole, Andy makes a startled sound and comes, his whole body curling off the bed.
***
“Hey, Andy.” Something strikes the side of his bed, and Andy startles awake with a sound suspiciously like ‘gnuh?’. He is vaguely aware of an Ash-shaped blur moving away from his bed, in the general direction of the bathroom.
“What-” he throws his arms over his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Nearly five, dude.” Ash sounds garbled-it takes Andy a second to realise he’s brushing his teeth. There’s a moment of unintelligible syllables, and then the sound of spitting.
“What?” Andy says, brilliantly.
“I said, you passed out pretty quickly after I blew you this morning.” Ash doesn’t sound exactly displeased about it. “I threw a blanket over you. Dude, you were out of it.”
The mortification rises in Andy’s face, but it’s a familiar feeling. He shucks off the sheets, and realises, with even more embarrassment, that he’s still extremely naked. “Yeah, well you try spending your whole night taking care of the asshole that broke his leg,” he calls, whilst hunting for a pair of boxers.
“If that’s how you ‘take care’ of people, you’d have made an awesome doctor,” says Ash.
Andy decides just not to answer. He slips his boxers on, listening idly to the sound of Ash limping back into the room, the sound of him rummaging around in his own bag. Outside, the world is a dull grey colour, as gloomy and uninviting as it was that morning.
He jumps when something lands on his bed.
It’s a plain brown paper bag, neatly folded and entirely unassuming. Andy looks up at Ash quizzically, but Ash has already turned away and is hunting for something else.
“Ash-”
“Merry Christmas,” says Ash, somewhat indistinctly.
Andy stares at the package, as if he expects it to sprout legs and bite him. When it does nothing of the sort, he hesitantly picks it up and peers inside.
He recognises the little plastic baggie instantly. Next to it, coiled neatly, is some sort of pendant necklace. He pulls it out carefully, allowing the charm to come free and swing in the air. The silver disc seems to wink at him, etched with engravings that Andy recognises as some sort of protection symbol, although he can’t place the exact meaning.
“Where did you get this?” he asks.
“Dude,” Ash gives him a look that patently says ‘you’re an idiot’. “Give me a little credit, I used to be the go-to guy for hunters.”
Andy grins. “You ordered it from the internet, didn’t you?”
Ash shrugs unapologetically. “Hey, if you don’t want it-”
“Hey, no take-backs!” says Andy, hooking the amulet around his neck before Ash can come over and reclaim it. It’s a solid weight against his chest and, despite the chill of the metal, it’s somehow comforting. “It’s… thank you.” He can’t stop reaching up to grip the amulet, even though it makes him feel like a total girl. “I feel kind of bad, I didn’t get you anything.”
“You can buy me dinner sometime,” mutters Ash, looking awkward.
“Or,” Andy pulls the baggie of weed out. “I could share this with you. I mean, it’s not like we’re going anywhere until your foot heals again, right?”
It only takes a moment for the grin to creep across Ash’s face, and Andy can’t help but return it.
***
Much later, when they’re sprawled across Ash’s bed, the weed having been consumed and Andy dozing against Ash’s stomach, he realises something.
“Dude, it’s still Christmas.”
Ash’s hands are petting lightly through Andy’s hair and, when he laughs, Andy can feel it vibrating through his whole body. “Way to go, genius,” Ash says. His voice sounds good, lazy and sated.
“This is totally the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”
“And ain’t that a sad thought.”
Andy rubs a thumb over his amulet and smiles. “Merry Christmas, Ash,” he whispers.
He’s already starting to doze off when he hears Ash reply.
“Merry Christmas, Andy.”
end.