Chapter Text
The old house is half ablaze, one window engulfed, but the entrance is barely smoking. The whole crew is there and after a few shouted observations and instructions, Luke runs ahead, expecting others to follow, and rams in the door. Beyond the flames, the floor seems to be clear. Luke ducks down, Terry at his shoulder, checking rooms, finding aged furniture, abandoned debris, and as he reaches the kitchen at the back he catches sight of the heel of someone leaving. He dashes for it.
Down the steps and into the back yard, he sees a man high-tailing it toward the back fence. Scrambling to remove his helmet and unbuckle his tank, Luke gets himself free and runs, because this time he’s got a solid chance of catching an arsonist without leaving the guys short.
He jumps the fence just like the villain and crosses the two-lane road, pretends his suit is cool and easy, pushes himself to catch up with the guy’s speed and sees two more ahead of him, tall and fast, crossing a nearly empty car park and into a local reserve.
Luke pushes his legs, working the stretch and force, focused on closing the distance. There are a few moments where all he can hear is the gritty slap-scratch of four feet on asphalt, his suit noisily folding around him, his bouncing breath, and soon he can hear the nearest runner too.
It isn’t until the far side of the parking lot, all dark and silver shadows, that Luke reaches him, next to a car, almost tripping on his heels before collecting two handfuls of jacket. He means to drag him to a stop, get him in some sort of hold, but the guy wrenches himself around, knocks Luke’s arms and grabs his fire jacket as they fall to the ground.
At speed it’s like an implosion, feet collecting on the curb as they tumble onto the grass and between trees, limbs tangled and jarred. Luke loses his place for two seconds, focuses on hands and weight, and even though the guy’s got a vice on his sleeve, Luke still manages to get into a crouch, get his toes into the soft dirt. As he stands, the guy gets up too, pulls him close, yanks him forward off his heels, and Luke’s spare hand grabs his jacket back because Luke’s the one catching him.
Then it’s as though the guy has turned them on purpose, catching the moonlight with his face so Luke can see that what he’s caught is a full wet face of gleeful smile and bloodshot eyes, someone driven with unnatural energy. Luke’s elbows instinctively lock against the body as he gasps, a double-hitch of breath and a choked Fuck! He can taste the guy’s otherness.
Whatever he is, he can laugh, bitter and manic, refreshed by opportunity. He’s sweaty and marked with soot and blood and as his chin tilts up Luke feels his own face pull back, pale and crawling, knowing that no one should have a full two rows of pointy teeth.
Their feet push against each other, and Luke’s arms strain. His mind trips on thoughts - unnatural, strong, stronger? Vampire? Really? - and then he smells the copper and salt inside the sweat, old and earthy and stagnant. He stumbles back onto the asphalt, holding and pulling and begins to feel like the captive. He registers a deep holler from within the reserve, and the creature must too because Luke is forced to the side of a car, bent against the curve by hips and a forearm, then a broad hand slaps over his face, palm on his eye and fingers hooking his jaw, to draw his neck long and bare.
Luke snaps, his instinct to fight flaring into fury, and gets his knee up, elbow across, turning, pushing, grimacing, almost tantruming in panic were it not for it actually working. He bashes an arm, twists his body, and hooks fingers under the high elbow to push and drag the hand off his face, grunting fearfully at the scratches left before the guy gathers his hair and yanks it tight.
Then the push against him jostles, is knocked sideways, yanking him about, and he hears another’s sounds. Fast nosey breaths and force on fabric, gut-deep grunts of air beaten out, and he suddenly has space. Luke wraps his hand over the scratches and falls back against the car, watching a tall form wrestle and beat the vampire into the dirt. The third person arrives, a burly frame that somehow matches the triangular style of the first, and when a deep voice says “Hold ‘im,” Luke’s brain dings Dean!
A machete appears, swinging fast and stopping with with a wet ssch! in the soil.
Dean sits back on his heels, puffing heavily, thighs tight and wide. Sam grunts an Ugh, like fucking hell, and ambles himself off the body, flicking his hair from his forehead and dumping his ass into the ground beside Dean.
“Y’all right?” Dean checks, knocking his knuckles into Sam’s sleeve.
“Yeah,” Sam puffs, and looks up at the guy they saved. “You okay man?” He frowns a little in the dark, taking in the fire fighter’s gear. Sam sees the glistening stripes either side of his ear and down over his fingers and into his collar, and after a second Sam gives a slack smile.
“Hey!” says Dean. “It’s Lyook!”
…
Even in the moonlight, Luke doesn’t look that flash. The brothers climb upright and step over to him with concern, Sam reaching his hands out, ready to catch should Luke lose his level.
“You okay?” Sam asks again, his palm reaching out to put pressure on the cuts, right over Luke’s hand, thumbs aligned, ear between the fingers. Luke looks at them wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Dean’s tugging around Luke’s clothes, checking for blood, and Sam’s got his head in both hands, repeating his name, firm and persistent.
When Dean starts to undo his jacket, he shakes out of it with “I’m fine, it’s just the scratches, I’m fine.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, man. Thanks, I’m fine.”
“Jesus, you had us worried for a minute there,” Dean breathes.
Sam’s pulls out small a flashlight and moves to Luke’s side to inspect the scratches and Luke lets the big hands roll his skull around. Everyone’s still puffing a little and Luke feels Sam’s breath blow right into his collar, down into his armpit.
Sam inspects, grim and peering. He’s clean shaven and his hair’s a bit shorter, Luke thinks. He remembers the fierce face he saw that first time, when Sam lunged and stabbed the demons.
“Well this feels familiar,” Dean grins.
“No stitches,” Sam reports, and gives a small smile, and steps back, hands on hips.
Luke comes away from the car and stands tall, protective gear resettling and Sam and Dean look at him properly. Everyone takes a second.
“You look bigger in this,” Sam tells him.
“Bear!!” There’s a shout from the back fence of the burning building and Dean and Sam instinctively step backwards, towards the shadows.
“Yeah, I’m good!” Luke yells back. He pushes off from the car and begins to make his way.
“Bear?” Dean asks.
“Yeah, short for Brereton,” he says and pauses to say, “Text you when we’re done? Grab a drink?”
“Sure thing,” Sam nods. “Catch you in a bit.”
…
Beer in hand, Sam slides into the booth, meaning to keep an eye on the door, but Dean elbows him along, nods him over, because he’s going to keep an eye on the door. Sam serves him a grumbling look, shuffles across a little and they sit there, shoulder to shoulder, four eyes on the door.
Dean’s trying to remember Luke’s true height. He seemed so tall that first meeting, when he got up from the bench stool in Y/N’s kitchen, but he’s really just Sam’s height. A bit wider in the hips, stockier. Dean drinks his beer.
Sam recalls the first time he saw Luke, swinging out of the shadows with that bat. He didn’t even stop to think who he was, Y/N’s description being so spot on. It was nice to have someone capable come up the rear, so to speak. Sam takes a sip.
When they’d crashed at Luke’s that night, crash was the operative word. Luke had put some blankets on the couch and a roll-out on the floor. Sam conked out on top of the sleeping bag, Dean had barely pulled a blanket across his belly before his jaw fell slack, their faces turned to each other, shoes still on.
Luke made a full breakfast, spending his weekend’s worth of protein and indulgence, and got a lot of satisfaction from Dean’s constant talking with his mouth full, bragging about how far you had come and then insisting they change the topic before he got soppy. Sam had flicked a look Luke’s way, dimpling a cheek, and later dried the dishes while he described how much better Dean was with you. But it had been a quick morning since Luke had let them sleep in.
Sam wishes he’d asked Luke more questions about fire fighting, how he liked the job, how he’d qualified. Sip.
Dean wonders if Luke has gotten lucky since his stupid wife left him, and what the pickings were really like in this town. Sip.
Sam wonders whether he’d have made the cut for the brigade, what’d be like to work with a crew. Sip.
Sam also wonders if anyone’s snapped up Luke since the divorce. Gulp.
When Luke walks in he scans the room for familiar faces and, thankfully, Sam and Dean are the only customers he really knows. A few others might vaguely ring a bell, but only as “People who saw me do a demo” type connections. And there is Annabeth, behind the bar, so that’s a slight pinch in the night.
He knows full well why he’s nervous. Over the past year he’s developed a hunch that men really do have a monthly cycle because Sam and Dean seem to be taking turns in his imaginings. It’s become a steady fortnightly schedule that alternates between full lips, cheeky eyes, and rumbly chuckles in the morning light, and something else altogether harder, faster, bonier and dominating. Dominating, Luke twitches to himself, not the word I want but that’s it.
“Luke! What would you like stranger?” Annabeth interrupts his thoughts, and he orders a double whiskey with a smile, reminding himself that he needs to damn well not think about any of that this evening.
He slides into the booth with a broad easy grin and a “Hey fellas” and Sam and Dean smile wide in response. Sam and Dean like catching up with friends and Luke is a rare case - someone who’s not in the life but still serves somehow. And he’s like them - working strength, purpose-built, tried and tested, sacrificial.
The brothers tilt their view a little and Dean nods “That feelin’ okay?” at Luke’s scratches, the neck portion covered with a patch.
“Yeah, it’s a little tight but fine,” Luke grins. He doesn’t care about it; he’s happy to see friends from out of town. “Is Y/N here?”
“Nah,” Dean says. “No, she’s actually visiting a friend. Someone who needs a bit of help recovering, in Colorado.” Dean sips and picks at the label. “Been gone about three weeks.”
“How you holding up?” Luke wonders.
“UuuuhYeah. I’m okay. A hunt is a good distraction. Wish she was here to catch up with you though.”
Luke nods at that. “Me too. Why didn’t you say you’re in town?”
“Uh we tend to wait until the hunt’s over for that,” Sam smiles kindly. “No point making plans we might miss.”
Dean glares at Sam, shakes his head and says to Luke, “And he’s the optimistic one!” Luke smiles and sips, looks around the room to calm himself.
Sam and Dean drink their drinks and they talk about you and what’s been going on since then.
Dean sees Luke scanning sometimes. He imagines people wondering who this local hero is sitting with - Who are those tall strangers? - then realises he’s still riding the ego trip of being hit on some 18 months ago. He feels a bit silly, then foolish, then has an idea to fix it both ways. ‘Hang on,” he says and pulls out his phone. A few taps and he says “Hey babe… Hey guess who we ran into?” and hands the phone over to Luke.
“Y/N! How are you?”
From across the table the brothers hear your voice clearly saying “Luke!! Oh my God! Are you okay?!”
All three of them laugh, Luke struggling with his “Yeah, I’m fine,” and Sam and Dean listen to him tell you about the fire, Dean filling him in on the vampire using fuel to blow out the fireplace in the old squat house, which the crew had already figured.
Luke describes the fight, glowing descriptions all round - “How’d you get there so fast man?” “How’d you pull that thing offa me?” - and explains how he’d said he just lost track of the culprit, and worried about a body left around. Dean pointed at himself, nodding sagely, and Luke understood they’d done something to clean up, the blood not even seen in the dark.
“So the guys tell me you’re even more kick-ass than before,” Luke stirs.
“Bit hard to be kick-ass at arm’s length, but yeah, I’m better,” you say.
“You should see Dean’s face when he talks about you,” Luke grins, watching Dean shake his head and look away. “His pupils go heart shaped and he clutches his beer like it’s a teddy.”
“He’s trying to think of something to say isn’t he?”
Luke laughs, teasing Dean. “Nailed it. Oh now he’s blushing-”
“Oh I am not blushing!” Dean grizzles, everyone giggling at him.
“Nah but seriously,” Luke drops his chin to talk to you especially, “I was thinking of you a few weeks ago, how you were starting again back then and then so impressive with the demon thing. They can’t say enough good things about you. It’s good. Nice, you know?”
You wish, just a little, Luke would tell you more, but maybe you can pry a few quotes from Dean later. “Thanks Luke. It is. Hey, how are the boys?”
Luke fills you in and they finish their drinks. You both promise to talk again before he hands the phone back to Dean.
“I miss you,” you tell him. “Andy’s getting better but I’m at least three days off the end of it.”
“Yeah, I miss you too. What are you up to tonight?”
“There’s not much night left for me. I’ll get up at 3 to check him, so off to bed soon.”
“Hey can I call you in halfa?”
“Uuuh, yeah-”
“From the motel?”
“Yyyyyyes. Yes you can.”
“Alright. I’ll call you back-”
“Hey, say Hi for me!” Sam cuts in.
“Hi Sam!” you yell back, and Dean wraps up the call soon after. “That’s it for me boys,” he announces. “Luke, you fit to give Sam a lift back?”
“Yeah! Sure,” he says looking to Sam for assurance. But Sam’s looking at Dean with dry disbelief.
“What?” Dean asks, arms out. “What’s your problem?”
“Really? You’d rather go back to the motel room than catch up with Luke?”
“Yeah Sam, I’d rather go back to the motel room I’ll have to myself and talk to Y/N than catch up with Luke. No offence man,” he adds.
“None taken,” Luke double-chins it.
“Don’t be judgey Sam. I’ll see ya.”
Sam scoffs a laugh as his brother leaves and Luke says “It’s kinda sweet.”
“Kinda gross, too. Hey you want another?” Sam asks.
“Yeah sure.”
Sam heads to the bar and waits for two whiskeys.
Luke looks at him leaning and decides he’s had enough to allow himself a short transgression. Sam is excellent. He can’t really tell the detail under all those layers, but he doesn’t care. Sam’s strong and able, he can move himself with force and precision, and he’s barely got enough fat to warm himself yet Luke already knows the guy runs hot. Very hot.
So he doesn’t care about whatever style his body might have; he can tell Sam’s worth it. Or would be, if Sam leaned that way.
Sam comes back to the booth, sits opposite Luke and slides the glass across.
Luke goes to take the drink but Sam holds it, saying “A toast,” and locks eye contact.
Luke swallows. “To what?”
“Friends,” he smiles. “They’re damn precious.”
“Yeah,” Luke nods and uses his sipping time to scold himself for threatening this friendship with thoughts of sex. Sex Sam doesn’t even swing for no less.
What follows is the most thorough series of career questions Luke’s ever encountered. Entrance exams, training schedules, ability testing, recruit programs, community service, professional development, everything. And through it all Sam listens intently, asks thoughtful questions, watches Luke explain, lets him ramble and tell stories and seems to get just as lost in it all.
As he listens, Sam notes the depth of Luke’s voice, feeling a bit silly at his own surprise. It’s always been that deep surely, but it’s different. Where Dean’s feels dragged down and roughened, Luke’s seems dug deep because he’s relaxed. He figures he might be maybe an inch taller than Luke, shoes depending, but Luke’s got a different kind of brawn to him. He’s pretty sure he does, anyway.
As soon as there’s a suitable break Luke asks “Did you want to leave hunting for fire fighting?”
“No,” Sam leans back, toys with his tumbler. “I mean, I considered it when I’s a kid - Dean did too - but this is what I do.”
“You fucking hunt monsters Sam. Sometimes in fires,” Luke reminds him. “It’s pretty impressive.”
Sam frowns thoughtfully, nodding at his glass. Then he seems to shift gear. He looks at Luke, sits up tall and leans his head back a little. There’s a second where he’s literally making a decision right there at the table, and his lips squick sideways, for a moment, in calculation. He looks at the door and back at Luke, curious eye contact dragging between them before he runs his tongue around behind his teeth.
Luke watches and hopes he’s okay, but doesn’t get a chance to ask.
“You were telling Y/N about your boys. How’s that all going?” Sam begins a new topic, apparently wanting to draw out the night. Maybe he thought Dean would need more time, Luke guesses.
Luke’s not all that keen to talk about the divorce. “It’s just about done,” he sighs, swirls the last of the last drink. “She challenged my custody based on character, but it didn’t hold up. Just took a lot of time, confused the boys.”
“Character based on what?”
Luke chews his lips, works his jaw through a frown and looks around the room: He doesn’t know what Dean has told Sam.
“Because of your sexuality?” Sam asks, eyebrows high.
Luke nods, relaxes somewhat.
Sam’s brow drops flat and his teeth rub together. He looks around the room too, hoping no one had been an asshole to one of the nicest guys he’s ever met. One of the best.
Soon his gaze lands back on Luke, who’s playing with the light in his drink, and he wonders how it is Luke hasn’t been approached by every gay guy and straight woman in town. Or maybe he has. But he’s here now, unattached and looking… well… He’s strong. He has a nice smile. The kind of smile that could make a Nanna giggle, truth be told. Sam supposes women would call him handsome, or hot. Probably hot.
Sam thinks surely he’s too smart to be tricked by himself.
“Well I’m glad it’s almost over,” Sam says, and smiles with the slightest of shrugs and dimples. “Have you been able to do anything about that?” He sips, hiding behind it.
“You mean… my ‘character’?” Luke asks, and Sam’s smile opens up like Yeah, your ‘character’. “Uh-uh, no more than your average teenager I’m afraid,” Luke chuckles. He leans back, crosses his ankles below the table, tucks his hands under his biceps and smiles soft and rueful. He’s got half a mind reflecting on his own crap fortune and Sam is looking at his shoulders, how tight it all is for him to cross his arms, the slope of his stomach as he leans back and, frankly, a damn good looking blue-eyed smirk.
Luke’s given up worrying and resigned himself. Sam’s a nice guy, but Luke’s feeling too pathetic for anything more than some nice company. So when he asks Sam “What about you? How many side’s you bat for?” he doesn’t expect anything cryptic or leading, or even encouraging.
Sam reaches his legs out too, his inner calf sliding up against Luke’s, and says “You know, no one’s actually asked me that before.”
Luke looks up at Sam, and twitches curiously “No one’s made you ask yourself?”
Sam takes a drink. A slow, evasive drink. He looks everywhere but Luke, and Luke watches Sam glance around thoughtfully, clench his jaw a few times, head nodding by millimetres, until he does eventually look back at Luke. And Luke takes a very careful lip-licking moment to properly consider the guy across from him who’s just rubbed a leg against his own.
He was flirting, Luke thinks. Listening, attentiveness, eye contact,… that’s Sam flirting. …Isn’t it? Luke glances away a little, tossing up logistics: Annabeth, distances, Dean, discretion. Either way, he has to find out. Now. Before Sam leaves town for another year, and before he pretends Sam never said what he didn’t just say. He has to find out.
Luke leans over, deep voice firm with meaning, “Can I talk to you for a minute?” and gets out of the booth in one move. He walks to the door, pulling on his jacket, cursory smiles and nods to those he passes, shoves the door out of the way and hears Sam do the same a half second after.
Outside he goes right, heading for an alley he knows, and Sam catches up as he turns down between the buildings. Luke pauses a little, looks back at the street to judge the distance, then keeps walking. The alley widens where one building’s fire escape cuts into the wall - Jesus, just coz I know every corner of this town, doesn’t mean anyone else knows where to look, too - and Luke chooses there to stop, glancing around as he turns, although there’s nothing to see but brick walls, wire-covered windows and a car.
Sam comes into the corner too, back to the wall in the few square meters of space beneath the pull-down ladder, and waits to hear what Luke is thinking.
Luke turns to face him, hands on hips, an eye on the street, trying to figure out what the hell he wants to say. But Sam’s looking at him with a face he’s never seen before, on anybody. It’s just plain acceptance. Patient, ready-when-you-are, acceptance.
Luke takes a few steps closer, within arm’s reach, but Sam doesn’t shift. He studies Sam’s expression, those steady eyes that make you step up, and a mouth that… Shit. Luke saw it: the slightest of dimples and an eyebrow that caught him looking at lips.
It’s enough. Luke steps forward again, all the way, and puts his mouth, his lips, on Sam’s. Sam smells… Perfect. It’s been so long since he’s had contact like this, even longer since it was new and exciting, and the sensations of touch and smell… He can feel Sam’s nose against his, his slightly prickly angular chin, and here, where his skin is burning in the night air, he’s getting something he’s only ever dreamed of… For a breath he doesn’t move in case Sam does.
But Sam stays still, and Luke peeks, finding Sam’s eyes still closed and he’s still there, letting Luke kiss him. So Luke tries a little more, untucks his lips a bit and moves, that half a nibble, to see what will happen, and Sam does the same, even tilting some.
In reply, Luke moves his mouth against Sam’s, a half-speed kiss for first-time callers, and slowly, gently, puts his hands on Sam’s ribs, settles his palms against the curve, and pulls him against his own body.
Sam pauses, breaking the kiss to draw a bit of breath, and Luke waits, curses suspended and body unmoving, to see what he’ll do. He watches Sam swallow and look down at his mouth and over his features, then feels Sam’s hands on his upper arms, pulling slightly, as Sam reaches for another go, a better go.
Luke lets him start it, gives the lead a little, but as soon as he feels Sam’s tongue cross his lower lip he meets him there, tangling and lapping, hoping that this is how he likes it. One hand let’s go of Sam’s chest, but clenches a fist mid-air ‘cause surely holding his head already will freak him out. He puts it back where it was and takes heart in the strength of the hands that hold him, the way one of them slips round to the back of his shoulder.
Sam pulls back, puffing a little and stares at Luke’s lips, bites his own. Luke wants to step back, feels like he should make some room, but the firmness of Sam’s chest and belly is too good, and Sam doesn’t seem to disapprove.
“D’yer wan-” Luke stops, starts again without the slur. “Do you want to come back to my place?”
Sam doesn’t respond. Luke can see him thinking, looking at Luke’s neck and shoulder, the tips of his fingers where Sam holds him.
“Not to- I don’t mean- that- we don’t have to do anything,” he explains, “it’s just it’s cold out here and noisy in there…”
“Yeah,” Sam says quietly, mouth still slack. “Awright.”
Luke steps away and into the alley, and watches Sam turn with him, keeps watching until they’re walking back up the alley side by side.
Sam steals a glance over at Luke as they head for the car, some yards up the street. Luke’s fighting a smile, trying to hid it.
“What’re you grinnin’ at?” Sam asks.
“Nothin’!” Luke says, all casual and evasive. He shrugs and lets his teeth show.
Then he looks over at Sam as they stride along the path, and Sam’s half smile pulls itself even. “Fucking what?” Sam asks.
Luke shrugs again. “Never kissed a guy before,” he confesses and heads around to the driver’s side. “Don’t half mind my first time’s with the best looking guy I’ve ever met.”
“Oh my god,” Sam groans, and gets into the car. “You’re smooth as shit, you know that?”
“In fact, you’re the second person I’ve kissed in my adult life,” Luke adds, like did you know butterflies are deaf.
Sam stops and has a good think, breaking the tension with “Well, it didn’t suck.”
“An eight?” Luke hopes cheekily.
“A six.”
Luke holds the key in the ignition nodding “I can do better… You were a five, by the way.” And Sam’s Oh what? is drowned out by the rev of the engine.