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Dean likes his new job. It puts muscle on his arms, money in his account and gas in his car. He's always liked working with engines, taking things apart and then putting them back together. His best friend Charlie tells him every day that he's got the mind of an engineer, and someday he'll take her up on that. For now, he's happy to be a fresh faced mechanic..
He's also pretty happy with his new boss.
And yeah, so maybe Dean's been a little blatant about that part, but Benny just makes it so damn easy, with his Southern drawl and easy-going attitude. Dean wants nothing more than to finally get a rise out of the guy, to see him just lose it. So far the closest he's gotten is a wandering eye and a pat on the back that lingered a little long, a little low.
It's really Benny's own fault that Dean starts to get cocky. The guy just lets him get away with too much, and there's nothing worse than a determined Winchester when given the go-ahead. It's a sticky-hot summer when things really get out of hand, the kind when so much as a room-temperature bottle of water tastes like heaven on your tongue.
Dean's rolled under a chassis, hammering out a bent frame when he feels a familiar nudge to his leg. He doesn't even have to consider how he might look when he pushes out from under the frame, bow legs spread like an invitation, shirt bunched up around his stomach, damp with sweat. He grins up at Benny, but despite the image he knows he presents, the guy just calmly hands him his bottled water.
“Thanks, man,” Dean says, undeterred. Benny nods his response and twists off the cap of his own water, drinking down a gulp. Dean doesn't know how he can wear so many layers in this kind of heat, given the kind of work they do. Dean places the edge of the bottle on his tongue, slides his lips over the mouth of it. Guys always love to tell him what great cocksucker lips he's got, and while it usually earns them a busted mouth of their own, he plans to put them to good use today.
And yet, when he glances over, Benny's eyes are trained elsewhere. He's going out of his way to keep his gaze from Dean, and the kid can't blame him. He's just a couple months shy of 20, and Benny is in his late thirties. Dude must be having Chris Hansen flashes, not to mention the automatic stigma of them both being dudes. Dean talks about women enough that Benny might think he's just some cock tease of a twink, unintentional and oblivious in how obvious he is.
It just makes Dean that much more determined to break Benny's reserve, and prove otherwise.
The water that dribbles down Dean's chin and neck feels amazing, cooling the heated skin. The sensation sparks an idea that has him biting back a grin as he lowers his bottle, only to raise it up high over his head. Water splashes down over his head, pouring over his face, neck and chest, and yeah, that catches Benny's eye.
Not to mention the obscene moan that Dean gives. “Fuck, that feels good,” he sighs, grinning.
The look on Benny's face tells Dean that he can't quite believe what he's looking at. His lips are parted, water bottle held at a distance. Dean's finally beginning to feel like he's on his way to victory. Benny still hasn't said a thing. With the silence between them beginning to get awkward, Dean raises an eyebrow. “What?” He prompts, licking a drop of water from his mouth.
Benny closes his mouth, looks down at his bottle, and slowly twists the cap back on. He takes a moment to set it to the side, uses his other hand to lift his cap so he can run his hand through the hair beneath. He trains his eyes back on Dean, seeming more composed. “What're you playing at, boy?” He asks flatly, all gruff and strained.
Dean knows he's won.
“I'm hot,” Dean says, all casual and frustratingly ambiguous. Without a second thought, he tugs his soaked shirt off, lean muscles working beneath taunt skin as they stretch. Benny's eyes follow every drop of water that trails down Dean's bared chest, looking hungrier than he's allowed himself to the entire time they've worked together.
Dean drops the shirt behind him, stretches out. “Much better,” he says with a nod.
He's expecting Benny to make a remark, to shake his head and turn away. It's been the entirety of his response to Dean's relentless teasing and showing off. He might earn himself a lingering slide of those blue eyes, or maybe a something more than what he's gotten.
He's not expecting the way Benny pushes him back against the wall, out of view, and crashes their lips together. He lets out a noise of surprise, hips bucking as Benny slides a thigh between his legs, giving him something to grind against. If Benny hadn't known before, he definitely knows how hard Dean is now.
Benny's bigger than Dean quite had a grasp on. Yeah, he knows the guy is broad, but Dean hadn't imagined the way his entire body would just engulf his, the way it would make him feel so small in comparison. Dean does everything he can to combat the feeling, to rival Benny in a battle of tongue and grind, but it's like trying to hump a brick wall. He's absolutely unmoving, and Dean realizes belatedly that if he wasn't so fucking hot for the guy, he could be in a lot of trouble here.
“This what you're after?” Benny growls, voice low and lost in that drawl of his. It sends shivers down Dean's spine. Dean thinks he gets what he means until Benny shows him what he means by sliding a hand between them and grasping Dean's cock through his damp jeans, squeezing once. “This what you had in mind, boy?”
Dean lets go a stuttered gasp, thrusting against Benny's palm. “Honestly?” Dean manages, breathy and maybe just a little wanton. “Sucking your cock before you fucked me was the movie playing on my reel.”
Dean's hands find purchase at Benny's belt, water and anxiousness making them slip. Benny grasps both Dean's wrists, yanks him from the wall and maneuvers both of Dean's wrists into the grasp of one hand. It's a power play that makes Dean's stomach jump nearly as hard as his cock, and he very nearly stumbles as Benny drags him to his office, all but slamming the door shut behind him.
“Knees,” Benny says, but there's an edge to his voice, something close to skepticism, like he doesn't really believe Dean is going to go through with it. He hasn't even touched his pants. Like everything else Benny does, it makes Dean that much more eager to prove himself. His knees make a hollow sound as he drops to them, but he hardly hears it over the blood pounding in his ears. His mouth is somehow caught between dry and watering, nerves and excitement wreaking havoc on his body.
He reaches out to grasp at Benny's belt, hands steadier now, and yanks the leather free. It's a flurry of movement that finally gets them down enough for Dean to get to his cock, and Jesus fucking Christ. He knew he was going to be big just by looking at him, but the motherfucker is huge. Dean's jaw aches just looking at it, and he's beginning to understand Benny's cynicism. He's probably had others run off after getting a good look at the size of him.
There's a moment where Dean thinks Benny is going to say something, maybe give him an out. He's gruff and tough with a history Dean can't begin to imagine, but for all his sins he's come out of it as someone more gentle. Someone who isn't going to force anything on Dean, though God knows he could.
Dean takes the moment to suck down as much of Benny's cock as he can without choking, which unfortunately isn't much, all things considered.
It catches Benny by surprise, makes him inhale sharply and briefly grasp Dean's shoulder, squeezing just shy of too hard before he lets go. It makes Dean feel powerful, makes him suck harder. He's never been able to get very much out of Benny, but with his lips around his cock, all it takes is some swipes of his tongue along the head of Benny's leaking cock to reduce him to harsh breaths, fists clenched and pressing against the wall behind him.
It's not nearly enough contact for Dean, though. He slides a hand up the side of Benny's thigh, scratches at the exposed skin where his pants are shucked down. He eventually finds Benny's wrist, tugs it until his fingers uncurl and follow Dean's lead. He's uncertain and hazy right up until Dean guides his hand to the back of his head, pressing it there.
He moans in encouragement when Benny's fingers push through and grasp his hair, chills running down his spine. Yes, he thinks, swallowing down that little bit more, jacking with his hand what he can't fit into his mouth. His lips are stretched obscenely around Benny's dick, red and spit slick.
Benny is struck by it, his spare hand coming up to cup Dean's jaw. His thumb glides along the line of his lips, following the stretch of them, until he meets Dean's gaze and his breath catches.
Dean is staring up at him through thick lashes, green eyes blown black. He pulls back slowly, catches Benny's thumb with his tongue. “Come on, Ben,” he says, throat rough from the rub of Benny's dick. “Y'gonna fuck my mouth or not?”
Benny has had just about enough of Dean's attitude.
With a fist in his hair, Benny shoves Dean back onto his cock, sudden enough to widen Dean's eyes and have him gag just once as Benny's dick nudges the back of his throat. It's brief, a long slide across his tongue as Benny pulls back, all the way to the tip, before pushing back in. Dean groans with it, allowing Benny to control the thrusts with a hand in Dean's hair and the motion of his hips. The sinuous roll of them makes Dean's cock throb in his still-damp jeans, makes him want to feel that motion against his entire body.
The thought makes Dean so fucking hard that he can't help himself, grinds the heel of his palm against his crotch to try and relieve some of the pressure. When that doesn't work, he pops the button open, moaning around Benny's dick as it fucks in and out of his mouth. He starts stroking his own cock in rhythm, hardly noticing the way his eyes are watering compared to the sweet relief of friction on his dick.
Suddenly, Dean's mouth is empty and he's being shoved down, legs sprawling out from under him. Benny's on his knees now, pushing Dean down as effectively as he yanks his jeans down. “Shit, Winchester,” he says, voice almost as fucked out as Dean's. “Was made for suckin' cock, huh?”
Dean tries to huff a laugh, but it comes out as more of a whine when Benny curls a warm hand around his dick. Benny gives a couple firm strokes before Dean manages to stop him, pushing his hand away. “Stop, stop,” he says, and there's a flash of something in Benny's eyes, something like confirmation of a suspicion and panic. Dean doesn't let it linger long.
From his jean pockets, he grabs a small tube of lube and a foil packet, one of which he tosses at Benny. “Hope it's big enough for your fucking monstrous cock,” Dean quips, laying back down. He's definitely going to have rug burn after this, but he can't bring himself to care. He's too invested in the bemused look on Benny's face as he holds up the condom.
“I could say the same about you,” Benny says eventually, tearing the foil with his teeth. Dean spreads nearly half the tube onto his fingers, slicking them liberally before he arches his back, circling his rim with them. He's done this enough before to have a hang of it, to know how much he can take and how quickly. His first fingers slides in easily enough, then the second, though the third is where the resistance begins. It's meager compared to usual, though, since he'd taken the time to prep himself before work.
Preparedness pays, they'd always told him. He doubts this was what “they” meant.
He doesn't hear Benny growl so much as he feels it, right down to his bones. The discarded lube is picked up by Benny, who just about empties the thing onto his fingers, which are considerably thicker than Dean's own. He presses one finger in along Dean's, slow and measured. Dean gasps at the unexpected touch, arching into it. “Fuck,” he breathes.
“That's the idea,” Benny says, rocking his finger in alongside Dean's. The two of them work like that for a few minutes, Benny's one finger eventually becoming two, then three when Dean removes his. He's panting now, pushing down on Benny's hand, twisting and angling his pelvis to try and reach the spot he can never quite hit on his own.
Dean makes an exasperated noise, rolling his hips eagerly. “Come on, move it along, will you?” He grits out, thrusting up. He could swear to God that Benny is actually avoiding his prostate.
“What's'a matter, boy?” Benny coos. Dean inhales sharply when he feels a finger from Benny's other hand push in alongside the first three; smart. Dean's never taken anything as big as Benny. “Not so much fun when it 'ain't you doin' the teasin'?”
“You son of a bitch,” Dean half says, half moans. Benny chuckles just before he crooks his fingers, the rough pads of them brushing over the bump of Dean's prostate. It sends powerful shivers down his spine, makes him writhe. “Fuck, fuck!” He hisses, cock drooling a drop of precome onto his stomach. He's never been finger fucked like this before, had anyone pay this kind of attention to him. He doubts he's ever been fucked as well as Benny is going to, either.
When Benny's fingers slide free, Dean feels the loss like a physical blow. He breathes raggedly, nails biting into the carpet. He doesn't have any time to lament it, though, not with Benny's hands grasping his hips and rolling him over as easily as Dean would a girl. He scrambles to follow when Benny hauls his knees up, ass in the air, but there isn't much he can do aside from just go with it.
Dean tries to push back against it when he feels the nudge of latex clad cock at his hole, but with Benny's hands on his hips, he can't really even twitch without Benny allowing it. Dean is left to grunt impatiently as Benny begins to press in, the wide head of his cock stretching Dean, despite the time preparing. “Oh God,” Dean groans, resting his forehead on his arms as Benny gradually fills him full of his cock.
The stretch is incredible, the burn dulled by thorough prep and care, leaving just the sensation of it as Dean adjusts to the girth. He tries to roll his hips, breathes noises of impatience into the crook of his elbow, but Benny is stern. He keeps Dean steady right up until he's seated fully, pelvis pressed to Dean's ass. He moves the flat of his palm up the curve of Dean's spine, along the back of his neck, and grasps his damp hair.
Dean's moan at that is downright pornographic. He's sure he feels Benny's cock twitch in response.
“Well?” Dean prompts after a moment, voice raw and reedy with anticipation. “What are you wait--”
The words are stolen when Benny pulls back and thrusts in, clenching his fingers in Dean's hair at the same time he grasps his hip hard enough to bruise, yanking him back onto his cock. Dean doesn't even have time to gasp before Benny is picking up speed, hips rolling in fluid movements that perfectly meet the way he pulls Dean into them.
If Dean could manage to say anything, he would, but all he can manage sharp, breathy gasps and little grunts, each one punched out of him with every snap of Benny's hips. He refuses to hold any kind of steady rhythm, a frustrating situation for Dean, who can't adjust long enough to mouth off.
Benny rolls his hips, forces a change in angle, and suddenly the fucking isn't just hard, it's fucking good, the fat head of Benny's cock sparking across Dean's prostate with every thrust. “Oh fuck,” Dean manages to gasp, using his arms to shove back against Benny.
“That's it. Good. Take it so easy,” he praises softly, thumb soothing back and forth over Dean's shoulder. Dean flushes, hadn't really expected Benny to be the type to talk, but apparently he had it wrong. He can work with that.
Benny moves his hand from Dean's shoulder to between his shoulder blades and presses down, easing Dean down until his chest touches the ground, ass in the air and rippling with each powerful thrust. Dean can't stop the sounds escaping his lips, little whimpers and gasps that drive Benny absolutely up the wall.
Dean's cock strains between his legs, throbbing and neglected. The pressure is starting to overwhelm him, but he can't reach for it, his arms trapped in a fold above his head as Benny keeps his upper body pinned down. “Please,” he gasps, unable to even gain enough momentum to push back against the Benny. “Fuck, please, please, jerk me. Need to come,” he says, certain he'll blow his load the second Benny touches his dick.
“I know what you need,” Benny soothes, and for a fleeting second, Dean thinks Benny's going to comply, but his hand never finds Dean's cock. Instead, he holds his hip tighter, and fucks him fast.
Dean cries out, feeling like he's choking on it as Benny fucks him into what he's sure is an early grave. “Good, Dean. Doin' good,” Benny murmurs, stroking his thumb over the back of Dean's neck, where he has him pinned. “Gonna make you come just like this.”
“I can't,” Dean all but sobs, desperate to be able to move, to do something to ease the pressure making his body shake all over. “I can't, Benny, I can't-- come on!”
Benny groans, pulling Dean back into every thrust. “So close, Dean. You feel me fillin' you up?”
Dean nods frantically, the burn becoming unbearable as Benny rams his sensitive prostate again and again. It's all consuming, a building eruption that he feels like he'll never quite reach. He's babbling incoherently, begging and begging for release. Benny leans over his body, large enough to span Dean's entire back, the scruff of his mouth brushing over Dean's neck. “That's it, boy. Come for me.”
There's a dull sting, the feel of Benny's teeth on Dean's skin, and that's all he can take. He's coming fast and hard, his entire body locking up, save for his throat as he shouts his orgasm into the otherwise dead space of the room. It moves through his body in tremors and goosebumps, seeming to go on forever as he's fucked through it.
Benny hisses through clenched teeth, ignoring Dean's whimper of protest when he pulls out before he's come. He releases Dean's hip and strips the condom off with a growl, grabbing hold of his cock. All it takes is a few quick jerks before he's coming, white hot liquid splashing over Dean's fucked out hole. Dean's body only jerks weakly, pliant and fucked out from the most intense orgasm he's ever had.
Benny is panting now, milking his cock gingerly of the orgasm. His eyes are hooded and dark, gaze on his own come painted along Dean's ass. He tucks his cock gingerly back into the cradle of his boxers, and takes his other hand away from Dean's back, focusing them both on spreading his ass. “Fuckin' Christ,” he murmurs, kneading Dean's cheeks, stroking across the come-wet hole with his thumb. Dean groans in meager protest.
“S'all right, Dean,” Benny murmurs, shifting. Before Dean can figure out what his means, he's gasping, pelvis jerking as a hot tongue swipes over his entrance, a beard itching the sensitive skin. Benny laps slowly at the come staining Dean's skin, cleaning it away with long strokes of his tongue.
Dean whimpers into the crook of his elbow, can hardly believe Benny is actually licking come off the ass he just fucked. “Y-you're a kink--kinky son of a bitch,”he manages, gasping as Benny spreads his cheeks wide, licking right the way into Dean's hole. Benny hums in agreement, pressing his tongue in as deep as he can.
Not knowing what Benny's game is, Dean decides to just enjoy being along for the ride, rocking his hips lightly as he's fucked by Benny's tongue, the wet muscle twisting hot and heavy over the sensitive flesh. Fuck, Benny is good at this, using tongue and teeth alike to gradually work Dean into a frenzy. It's not too much longer before he's panting, practically shoving his ass back against Benny's mouth.
He doesn't even give a shit about the beard burn his thighs are receiving.
“Fuck, Jesus, fuck,” Dean breathes, biting his own arm to keep from crying out as Benny slips a finger in alongside his tongue, licking around it. “B-Benny,” Dean gasps, whimpering as the man effortlessly pushes in another finger, Dean's hole stretched and greedy after taking his cock. “Too much,” he groans, but he can't seem to stop fucking back on Benny's fingers and tongue, egging him on.
His cock twitches steadily, and he realizes this is probably Benny's game. “C-come on, man, you're killing me,” he gasps out, ending on a moan as Benny pushes a third finger in. Dean's got rug burn on his knees, chest and elbows, along with an impressive burn between his thighs, but he can't bring himself to care as Benny's tongue drags over the sensitive circle of his rim. His cock is throbbing now, hanging heavy between his legs while his boss continues to go to down on his ass.
Benny eventually pulls away with a wet slurp that Dean will jerk off to for the rest of his life, chuckling. “Well, if this is too much for you, maybe you best pack up and go home,” he says, clapping Dean on the ass suddenly. Dean's entire body jolts, sensitive.
“Fuck that,” Dean slurs, adrenaline spiking and helping him haul himself up as he hears Benny shifting, as if ready to get up and leave. He turns around and finds Benny propped up on his knees, his lips curved into a faint little smirk as he stares Dean down. Dean accepts the challenge in his eyes readily, crawls over and does his best to be some kind of intimidating as he pushes Benny back onto his ass.
The fact Benny obviously goes down of his own accord more than by Dean's force is irrelevant.
Next, Dean works on pulling his pants off the rest of the way, wrestling off his boots while he's at it. It's no fair that Benny got to fuck him fully clothed, and Dean has every intention of rectifying that. Benny is also hard, his sizable length standing to full attention as Dean crawls his way back up the mans body, straddling his thighs. “Shirt,” Dean orders. Benny complies, wriggling to get it off, wearing that smirk all the while.
Satisfied, Dean runs his hands up Benny's thighs, brings them together to stroke along Benny's cock. It twitches in his grasp, sensitive from a recent orgasm, and he grins lazily. “Really got off on eating me out, huh?” He asks, a drawl of his own creeping in. Benny always brings it out in him.
“Almost as much as you,” Benny responds, his hands finding Dean's thighs. They settle there, large and warm but without demand. He's willing to let Dean have the control for a bit, to set his own pace. The kid's earned it after surviving all that without passing out, after all.
Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes, bends down to lick at the wet head of Benny's dick, sucking lightly at the head. Benny groans, his head dropping back against the ground as his grip on Dean's thighs flex. Dean spends a bit of time there, licking and sucking down along the shaft of Benny's cock. After a few moments, he pulls away, his hands stilling.
“You clean?” He asks. Benny's eyes open, and he looks up at Dean, an eyebrow raised.
“Come again?”
“You clean?” Dean repeats impatiently, chewing his tongue. Benny eyes him for a long enough time that Dean begins to feel uncomfortable in his own skin, impatience made worse by his raging hard on. “Come on, man. Easy question,” he says, twisting his wrist on an upward stroke along Benny's cock. “I am.”
“Dean,” Benny sighs, shifting to lift his upper body on his elbows. Dean hates the tone of his voice already, because he's starting to sound the way he does when they're working together, when he's explaining to someone why they're an idiot without calling them one. “I believe you, but this 'ain't the kind of thing you half-ass,” he tells him, pointedly ignoring the damn near pout Dean's plush bottom lip has fallen into.
“But you liked it,” Dean blurts, hands resting on Benny's hips. Benny frowns slightly, the determination in Dean's tone catching him off guard. He's not just being spontaneous or wild for the sake of it, he's got real purpose in his eyes. “You took it off, and you--”
The tips of Benny's ears burn slightly, turning red as he sheepishly scratches his nose. “What I did--”
“Was fucking hot,” Dean interrupts, smoothing his hands down the V of Benny's pelvis. He's still hard, kept that way by the weight of Dean on his legs, the warmth of his body and the promise of something more. The idea of taking Dean as he is, without the barrier of latex between them, very nearly makes him groan. To fill Dean up with come, see it dripping, be able to lick himself out of Dean instead of just--
Benny pinches the bridge of his nose, forces himself to focus. “Dean,” he begins, ignoring the annoyed little sound Dean makes. “If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it proper,” he says, hand falling away from his face. He lifts himself up, hand going to Dean's back to support him as he shifts into a sitting position, Dean still in his lap. “We'll get the papers, we'll play it safe. Next time.”
Dean perks up at that, brows knitted in a mix of surprise and skepticism. “Next time?” He echoes, a little bit of hope bleeding into it. Benny wonders how many people have taken advantage of Dean, obtained from him whatever they wanted and then forgotten about him. Is that why he's so desperate to please Benny like this, to make an impression?
“Next time,” Benny confirms, leaning in to promise it against Dean's lips. Now that the urgency has worn off some, the initial (terrifying) thrill of what they're doing dulled by a sense of security and intimacy between them, it doesn't feel rushed or forceful. Benny's lips are light against his, the beard more of a tickle than a burn. Dean slips his tongue eagerly into the mix, tastes the bitter salt lingering in Benny's mouth, deciding he very much likes this idea of a next time.
“In the mean time,” Dean says, untangling himself from Benny's hold so that he can crawl to his jeans, grabbing another condom from his pocket. He makes his way back to Benny and settles back in his lap, their cocks nudging together tantalizingly. Dean can feel Benny watching him as he tears the packet, tossing it aside once empty. He rolls the condom smoothly down Benny's shaft, gives it a pump or two.
Dean looks up at Benny through the thick of his eyelashes, and he practically feels the growl that rumbles in Benny's chest. The next thing he knows Benny's hands are sliding under his thighs, hauling him up. Dean flails a second, hands throwing out to catch his balance on Benny's shoulders. He wraps his legs around Benny's waist, gasping as Benny holds him open, lowering him onto his cock.
“Jesus fuck,” Dean breathes, arching his back as Benny fills him. The angle changes the sensations, and Dean groans, grinding down against him. Benny cups his ass, squeezes before he lifts Dean half way up his shaft, then drops him back down, earning a cry from Dean, who's already seeing stars. Benny does it again and again, giving Dean no leverage, and all he can do is take it as Benny slams him down again and again.
The fullness is dizzying, and the impact even more so. Dean's gasping and choking on his own breath, his body in spasm around Benny's dick as it drives up into him again and again. He clenches his legs tighter around Benny, curls his arms around the mans neck and holds on for dear life, his own cock rubbing wetly against Benny's stomach, sending shocks of pleasure through him.
Dean pushes himself impossibly closer, holds on tightly as he presses his lips to Benny's. It's clumsy, teeth knocking as they work out a rhythm between their mouths and the way Benny is bouncing Dean in his lap, but they get it right. Dean adds tongue, licking at Benny's in a filthy, open kiss. They're both panting, and just as Dean thinks he's getting his bearings, Benny's lifting him in a different way.
The world spins, and suddenly Dean is on his back, legs and arms still coiled tightly around Benny. He locks his ankles over each other, throws his head back as Benny takes advantage of the missionary position, fucking relentlessly into Dean. Benny mouths at the column of his throat, licks the bob of his Adam's apple.
Dean reaches down between them, praises the fucking lord that Benny doesn't stop him when he grabs a hold of his dick, squeezing at the base before he begins to stroke himself, knuckles brushing along Benny's solid stomach. He seriously doubts he could handle another orgasm like that twice in a row.
“Shit, I'm gonna--”
“Good,” Benny says, low in Dean's ear. He's got his hands on the ground, using them for leverage as he rolls his hips again and again. Dean screws his eyes shut, moans as he tightens his fist, jacking himself in time with the way Benny's thrusting into him. The fit of their bodies is easy now, Dean loose and pliantly stretched out around him, and it's all building up an intense pressure in Dean's body.
Dean gasps, throws off the rhythm when his hips jerk, fucking into his fist and back onto Benny's cock, and then he stills, his back arching, chest pressing against Benny's as he spills his orgasm between them, his mouth open in a silent cry.
His legs go slack around Benny's waist, falling to the wayside as Benny thrusts a handful more times before he comes, groaning his pleasure into the juncture of Dean's neck and shoulder. They're both breathing hard, still in the moments of their high. Benny is the first to move, soft cock slipping from Dean's body.
Dean tries to protest it, arms still curled around Benny's neck, but the way he tugs doesn't do anything except make it easier for Benny to gather him up into his arms. Dean honestly can't believe how steady the guy is, but more than that, he can't believe he's being manhandled to this degree. “Hey,” he tries to snap, but it's lazy, his whole body fucked out and loose.
Benny carries him all the way to the couch, sets him down gingerly once he gets there, as though Dean is suddenly something breakable. Dean finds he doesn't mind all that much, though. He watches Benny slip the condom off, tying the end and dropping it into the trash bin. He admires the curves and musculature of Benny's body as he goes to his desk, grabbing a plastic container.
“What're you doing?” Dean asks on a yawn, stretching his arms up above his head. Benny walks back to the couch and Dean shifts back so that Benny can sit by his legs. He watches Benny pop open the lid and stifles a laugh as Benny tugs out a damp wipe. “Dude, really?”
Benny raises an eyebrow, then presses the cold cloth to Dean's skin, making him jump. Dean's floored when Benny begins using the wipe to rub away the mess of come from his stomach, his other hand holding Dean's hip down. “Hey, man, you don't have to--” Benny doesn't so much as glance up, just shifts his hand higher to keep Dean pinned to the couch.
Baffled and quickly turning red, Dean can only watch as Benny takes his time cleaning his skin, wiping away the traces of lube and come. The cloth eventually turns warm beneath Benny's hand, and Dean finds it in himself to relax, to close his eyes and just enjoy the soft touches. Not in his entire life has he received the kind of intimacy that Benny has offered him in their time together, and it makes something in his chest clench to think about.
When Benny is finished, he gives himself a quick rub down as well, tosses the scrunched up wipes into the trash. He sets the container on the ground, and before he can do anything else, Dean is pulling him down. “Dean,” Benny protests, lips quirked. “This couch 'ain't big enough for the two of us.”
“I'll decide that, cowboy,” Dean responds, pulling still on Benny's arm. Benny relents, goes down on his back and slides his arm under Dean, who settles all but on top of him, their chests pressed together.
“Cowboy?” Benny echoes, idly stroking his hand along Dean's waist. “Last I recall, you did all the riding.”
Dean leans up to nip at the lobe of his ear. “Y'know, the owner of that Toyota's gonna be pissed. Was supposed to be a rush job,” he says, grinning crookedly as he rests his head on Benny's shoulder, tangling their legs together.
Benny snorts.“Anyone tell you you're one hell of a shit disturber?”
“All my life,” Dean confirms, half muffled against Benny's skin. They're both sweaty and still smell of sex, but Dean can't imagine anywhere more comfortable than that barely big enough couch. He slings his arm across Benny's torso, and Benny responds by placing a large hand on his forearm. “So... How's next time lookin'?”
Benny's eyes are closed, but his lips twitch. “It's lookin' like Friday night.”
Dean grins, his stomach flipping pleasantly. “Awesome.”