FNL/Supernatural FF: Pit stop (Dean/Tim, R)
ETA: Changed my mind, partially because everyone else was posting them as individuals, and partially because I'm freakish and need to be able to organise properly.
Title: Pit-stop
Fandom: Friday Night Lights/Supernatural
Pairing: Tim/Dean
Rating: R
Genre: PWP
Length: 950 words
Disclaimer: Belongs to Eric Kripke and Peter Berg
Spoilers: Nothing explicit
AN: For oxoniensis's porn battle here and there are many exciting prompts, so some more people should go write!
Prompt: Crossover, Friday Night Lights/Supernatural, Tim/Dean, car
Normally, Dean would be punching him. Anyone looking at his car cross-eyed ought to be punched, just on general principles. But cross-eyed isn’t exactly right, and at least he’s staying way over there by his piece-of-shit truck, looking but not touching.
The kid has hair longer than Sammy’s, nowhere near as tidy, falling most of the way over his eyes. He’s got on ratty jeans and a rattier tee-shirt, and now he’s staring over at Dean with big sad eyes that aren’t even a little scared.
“You better not be thinking about touching my girl,” Dean says, in case it needs to be made clear.
“Don’t see a girl. Not touching the car though.”
“Just admiring?”
“Going now.”
“Hey. Hey, now don’t be like that. Just gotta make sure, places like these. Lotta guys might take a fancy to a car like this.”
“M’not a thief.”
“Never said you were. But this is a football town and I know a few things about football towns. Nice cars have this tendency to end up with broken windows or scratched doors or paint thrown all over them. And rest assured, anything like that happened to my car, losing the game would be the least of your worries.”
“It’s not always when we lose.” There’s a hint of laughter, or what might have been laughter once. The kind of laughing at yourself you learn when you really need a trick like that.
“Is that right? Well then, I was thinking about going to get a drink in that bar over the road, but as it appears that Dillon isn’t safe for a classic car, maybe I’ll just sit up here and keep an eye on her. Don’t suppose you’d have a beer in that beast of yours there?”
The boy nods, solemn, and walks the few steps to his truck. Leaning in through the passenger window, he pulls out two, and hands one over.
Dean nods his thanks and then: “Dean.”
“Tim.”
“So which one are you?”
“Excuse me?”
Dean’s quick once-over gets stuck on the arms, thick as tree-trunks, man’s arms that are a pleasant reminder that while he’s probably breaking one law here, he’s not breaking two. Even aside from the ‘we’, this guy is either a footballer or a really displaced lumberjack. “Not quarterback,” he concludes, because while Tim has great arms, he’s pretty skinny almost everywhere else Dean can see. And because this isn’t the leader-of-men guy, this is the punch-you-in-the-face-for-looking-at-my-guy-sideways, guy.
“Fullback,” Tim answers, and that’s all.
“You guys good?”
Incredulous look and, “You kidding me?”
“Should I be?
“Dillon Panthers? You’re not from around here.”
“Nope. This is a little bit farther South than I normally like to travel, but you gotta go where the work is. Kansas, is where I’m from, so, no, not from…”
Tim’s big dark eyes are giving Dean a look he recognises pretty well, before closing shut almost delicately.
“You wanna take a look inside the car?” Dean asks.
“Huh?”
“Inside. The car.”
“Yeah…” Dean has a pretty good drawl going, but Timmy here has it down to a fine art. He has half a mind to tell him so, but they’ve made it to the door of the Impala, and Tim’s sprawled all over the back seat like the best damn porn Dean makes sure his brother doesn’t know he watches.
He closes the door shut behind him, and kneels over the top of Tim, pushing his hair back behind his ear. Tim looks like maybe that’s not how he planned this going, or not how he’s used to these things going, and while it’s maybe a little gratifying that the kid is still here, Dean isn’t in the habit of fucking hesitant teenage boys in the back of his car. He reaches out for the fly of Tim’s jeans instead, and listens for the guttural “God,” breathed out over his wrist.
Tim flicks Dean’s fly open, and this part he knows, ‘cause he wraps one big hand around Dean’s cock and strokes slow and sweet and easy until Dean’s seeing stars.
Dean’s hand on Tim is a little faster, just a hair rougher, to get away with the fact that he’s about to kiss this guy’s neck, where his hair has been shoved away.
Tim stops, just for a second, ‘til Dean asks, “Problem?”, tongue and teeth and heat. Tim bucks up into Dean’s hand, and that’s it, he’s coming hot and sticky over Dean’s hand and probably making a mess of the upholstery.
Dean’s going to deal with that in just one second, just as soon as… Tim’s grip tightens, still more certain with his hands than he’d been with anything else all night. He’s faster this time, and Dean doesn’t know if he’s trying to get it over with or if he just heard Dean’s prayers, because there’s delayed gratification and then there’s torture. Then there’s this - a sudden meeting of eyes before Tim’s forehead falls down against Dean’s. When Dean opens his eyes again, Tim is looking at his own hand with a pretty hilarious distaste.
Dean grins. “Hold on a sec. I’ve got…” He climbs into the front seat and raids the glove compartment. “Napkins? From at least sixteen different locations.” He hands it back.
Tim wipes his hand and shuffles a bit. “I should probably… Billy…”
“That your big brother?”
“Yeah.”
“You get on home to him then, before he calls the cops, okay?”
There doesn’t seem much more to say, and Tim leaves silently, after half-heartedly wiping the condensation from the windows. “It’s a good car,” he throws over his shoulder.
Dean can’t help but laugh. “Damn right she is.” There’s something else… “Hey, Timmy. Go Panthers.”
Thread posting
Title: Pit-stop
Fandom: Friday Night Lights/Supernatural
Pairing: Tim/Dean
Rating: R
Genre: PWP
Length: 950 words
Disclaimer: Belongs to Eric Kripke and Peter Berg
Spoilers: Nothing explicit
AN: For oxoniensis's porn battle here and there are many exciting prompts, so some more people should go write!
Prompt: Crossover, Friday Night Lights/Supernatural, Tim/Dean, car
Normally, Dean would be punching him. Anyone looking at his car cross-eyed ought to be punched, just on general principles. But cross-eyed isn’t exactly right, and at least he’s staying way over there by his piece-of-shit truck, looking but not touching.
The kid has hair longer than Sammy’s, nowhere near as tidy, falling most of the way over his eyes. He’s got on ratty jeans and a rattier tee-shirt, and now he’s staring over at Dean with big sad eyes that aren’t even a little scared.
“You better not be thinking about touching my girl,” Dean says, in case it needs to be made clear.
“Don’t see a girl. Not touching the car though.”
“Just admiring?”
“Going now.”
“Hey. Hey, now don’t be like that. Just gotta make sure, places like these. Lotta guys might take a fancy to a car like this.”
“M’not a thief.”
“Never said you were. But this is a football town and I know a few things about football towns. Nice cars have this tendency to end up with broken windows or scratched doors or paint thrown all over them. And rest assured, anything like that happened to my car, losing the game would be the least of your worries.”
“It’s not always when we lose.” There’s a hint of laughter, or what might have been laughter once. The kind of laughing at yourself you learn when you really need a trick like that.
“Is that right? Well then, I was thinking about going to get a drink in that bar over the road, but as it appears that Dillon isn’t safe for a classic car, maybe I’ll just sit up here and keep an eye on her. Don’t suppose you’d have a beer in that beast of yours there?”
The boy nods, solemn, and walks the few steps to his truck. Leaning in through the passenger window, he pulls out two, and hands one over.
Dean nods his thanks and then: “Dean.”
“Tim.”
“So which one are you?”
“Excuse me?”
Dean’s quick once-over gets stuck on the arms, thick as tree-trunks, man’s arms that are a pleasant reminder that while he’s probably breaking one law here, he’s not breaking two. Even aside from the ‘we’, this guy is either a footballer or a really displaced lumberjack. “Not quarterback,” he concludes, because while Tim has great arms, he’s pretty skinny almost everywhere else Dean can see. And because this isn’t the leader-of-men guy, this is the punch-you-in-the-face-for-looking-at-my-guy-sideways, guy.
“Fullback,” Tim answers, and that’s all.
“You guys good?”
Incredulous look and, “You kidding me?”
“Should I be?
“Dillon Panthers? You’re not from around here.”
“Nope. This is a little bit farther South than I normally like to travel, but you gotta go where the work is. Kansas, is where I’m from, so, no, not from…”
Tim’s big dark eyes are giving Dean a look he recognises pretty well, before closing shut almost delicately.
“You wanna take a look inside the car?” Dean asks.
“Huh?”
“Inside. The car.”
“Yeah…” Dean has a pretty good drawl going, but Timmy here has it down to a fine art. He has half a mind to tell him so, but they’ve made it to the door of the Impala, and Tim’s sprawled all over the back seat like the best damn porn Dean makes sure his brother doesn’t know he watches.
He closes the door shut behind him, and kneels over the top of Tim, pushing his hair back behind his ear. Tim looks like maybe that’s not how he planned this going, or not how he’s used to these things going, and while it’s maybe a little gratifying that the kid is still here, Dean isn’t in the habit of fucking hesitant teenage boys in the back of his car. He reaches out for the fly of Tim’s jeans instead, and listens for the guttural “God,” breathed out over his wrist.
Tim flicks Dean’s fly open, and this part he knows, ‘cause he wraps one big hand around Dean’s cock and strokes slow and sweet and easy until Dean’s seeing stars.
Dean’s hand on Tim is a little faster, just a hair rougher, to get away with the fact that he’s about to kiss this guy’s neck, where his hair has been shoved away.
Tim stops, just for a second, ‘til Dean asks, “Problem?”, tongue and teeth and heat. Tim bucks up into Dean’s hand, and that’s it, he’s coming hot and sticky over Dean’s hand and probably making a mess of the upholstery.
Dean’s going to deal with that in just one second, just as soon as… Tim’s grip tightens, still more certain with his hands than he’d been with anything else all night. He’s faster this time, and Dean doesn’t know if he’s trying to get it over with or if he just heard Dean’s prayers, because there’s delayed gratification and then there’s torture. Then there’s this - a sudden meeting of eyes before Tim’s forehead falls down against Dean’s. When Dean opens his eyes again, Tim is looking at his own hand with a pretty hilarious distaste.
Dean grins. “Hold on a sec. I’ve got…” He climbs into the front seat and raids the glove compartment. “Napkins? From at least sixteen different locations.” He hands it back.
Tim wipes his hand and shuffles a bit. “I should probably… Billy…”
“That your big brother?”
“Yeah.”
“You get on home to him then, before he calls the cops, okay?”
There doesn’t seem much more to say, and Tim leaves silently, after half-heartedly wiping the condensation from the windows. “It’s a good car,” he throws over his shoulder.
Dean can’t help but laugh. “Damn right she is.” There’s something else… “Hey, Timmy. Go Panthers.”
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