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It's 6:42 when Dean arrives for his 7 o'clock Friday night date with Benny. His engine sputters to a stop and he sits there in the evening dusk, parked outside Benny's house as he waits for the hands of his watch to tick 7:00, a six-pack of beer strapped in on the seat beside him. He splurged tonight, at least to an extent, picking up a pack of imported beer as opposed to the crap he usually drinks. It's stronger, which he has a feeling he's going to need tonight. He licks his lips, unbuckles his seat belt and gets himself comfortable for the wait.
He feels a little ridiculous, sitting like this with his fingers tapping atop the beers, but there are nerves fluttering in his chest and, for some reason, he can't bring himself to be early. At work, he'd always felt like he'd had the upper hand. He could tease Benny to his heart’s content, egg him on while being kept safe by the expectations of their professional relationship and their surroundings. Now that he's abandoned that, decided to take this a step further, he's lost that theoretical upper hand, sacrificed it for an actual date; a chance at something real.
Dean's head feels light and suddenly he's gasping for air, having only just realized he was holding his breathe to begin with, knuckles white in their grip on his steering wheel. His chest feels and he can't quite get a proper breath in, has to force himself to calm down.
Be cool, man. It's just dinner. It's just a night out with a guy. Just a guy. Just your boss. Just your boss who you seduced. Just your boss who you seduced into fucking you in the middle of his office...
Dean exhales unevenly, rolls his palms on the steering wheel, talking himself out of his panic. Chill out, he repeats again and again to himself, letting go of the wheel and shaking out his shoulders. He glances down at his watch, startling when it reads 6:58. He scrambles to unbuckle the passenger side seat belt, hauling the beer up as he climbs out of the car.
He hovers at the doorway; hand raised, and takes a deep breath. It's exactly 7:00 now, but is that too obvious? Dean falters on his knock, wondering if he should maybe wait an extra--
The door swings open, and Dean's thought process comes to an abrupt halt, eyes drifting up to meet Benny's. Benny's lips are tilted in an amused little smirk, one brow raised as he stares down at Dean, who looks every bit a deer caught in the headlights. “Was wonderin' when you'd find your way up here,” he teases in that caramel thick drawl, stepping out of the way as he gestures Dean in. “Heard that engine of yours a mile out.”
Dean flushes furiously, ducking his head as he enters. Shit. So much for not coming across as the loser he is. His thoughts are quickly scattered when Benny's hand settles low on his back and he feels a shiver run up his spine, the warmth grounding him. He clears his throat. “I brought beer,” he says a little weakly, holding up the six-pack. Embarrassing enough to have been caught in his little act, but the amused look Benny gives him makes him shrink even more, though it does actually eases some of his anxiety.
“Sure did,” Benny agrees, shutting the door behind them as he guides Dean into his home, straight to the living room. It's nothing extravagant, not that Dean had expected such, but it's nice. There are paintings on the wall that are a little more artsy than Dean would have expected, but they're balanced out by the number of personal family photos that fill the space between them, light-hearted and silly. The furniture looks rustic and with age, but comfortable, despite the horrendous pattern of the couch. Dean crinkles his nose a bit when he thinks Benny isn't looking.
Nothing in the house really matches, and some of it should probably even clash, but somehow the overall tones make it work. Rich shades of browns and greens and reds, hard wood floors and a large rug beneath the coffee table. It works, and Dean finds he actually likes it.
The house only has one floor, leaving space for high ceilings and a large, crescent-shaped window across from the lit fire place. The mix of moon and fire light is nothing short of romantic, and it sends something warm spiralling down to Dean's heart when he thinks that maybe it's intentional. That maybe it's for him. He spots flickering candles along the mantle and a few on the side tables, and that warmth deepens.
“This is nice,” Dean says; a little stilted, but genuine. He doesn't quite know how to act around Benny in such a personal setting, doesn’t know if the first date rules apply or if they’re a little beyond that, as co-workers and as two people who fucked relentlessly on the floor of the main office.
Dean flushes, throat bobbing as he swallows the lump that had gathered there.
A hand on his shoulder startles him, and Dean can only hope he isn’t as warm to the touch as he feels. Maybe it’s all those candles. “Dean, relax,” Benny coos, but Dean finds that Benny’s grasp on his shoulder causes him to do the very opposite.
The smile Dean gives is too big, too forced. Before he can push out an equally strained reply, Benny holds a hand up. “Listen, Dean, before we… start anything here, I’m gonna need to make sure you’re really on board for this, ‘cause if you’re not, you don’t have to—“
“Whoa, whoa, hey, no,” Dean quickly cuts in, wondering how the hell he’s managed to screw this up just by walking in the door. “No, man, that’s not it, I’m just…” Dean falters as he stares into Benny’s eyes, unsure what to do with the sheer magnitude of concern and understanding he sees there, like if Dean were to turn on his heel and never look back, Benny would be there to hold the door for him and wish him a good night without an ounce of sarcasm.
How can this guy just be so fucking nice all the time? Dean knows he doesn’t deserve it, but for some reason that’s entirely beyond Dean, Benny doesn’t look down on him. Doesn’t seem to think he’s trashy for seducing his boss in the middle of the work day and jumping on his dick as soon as it was out.
Jesus Christ. They’re on a date. A real date, with candles and shit.
And Dean’s ruining it by freaking out. He chews his tongue a moment before he continues, “I’m just being stupid. C’mon, the beer’s getting—“
Dean’s cut off by Benny’s two big hands cupping the sides of his face, and the look of determination in Benny's eyes is almost startling. “No more of that, y’hear? Won’t have you puttin’ yourself down like that,” he says, and Dean feels a flush of shame over being called out on his perpetual state of self-depreciation. Benny’s hands fall away and Dean instantly misses the support of them. Grasping Dean’s upper arms, Benny gives a gentle squeeze.
“Y’nervous?” He asks. There’s so much softness and empathy in it that Dean finds himself nodding right away, glancing down sheepishly. With a slight smile, Benny leans in to press a chaste kiss to Dean’s temple. “S’alright. Makes two of us,” he says before he turns, keeping one hand on Dean’s arm to guide him through the living room, to the kitchen.
“It’s not much,” Benny admits, though there’s no shame to it, just acknowledgement. “But it’s mine. Cooked some damn fine meals in this little cubby,” he says, tossing a promising wink over his shoulder. Dean laughs, though he’s still reeling from the idea that someone like Benny could possibly be nervous around someone like Dean. What the hell for?
“I like it,” Dean assures, setting the beer atop the counter next to the fridge. Like the rest of the house (from what Dean’s seen) the kitchen has the same mix-matched kind of appeal to it, all autumn shades and wood finishes. There’s an ornate island in the middle of the kitchen that takes up way too much space, and on the wall is mounted an impressive rack of pans, cookware and utensils.
Dean grins. “Nice rack.”
“Haha,” Benny gives back, shaking his head as he puts the beer Dean brought into the fridge. Dean continues to explore, tilting his head as he looks around.
Sweet merciful Zeppelin.
“Dude, what the hell is up with that?” Dean asks, pointing to the mounted deer head perched precariously over the stove. He can’t help but being unnerved by the blank, abyssal stare of the disembodied head.
Benny scratches his nose, which Dean has learned is one of his tics for whenever he’s embarrassed. “Ah, yeah, that… Well, you’ll have to meet my ma before you understand that one. It’s an old family tradition.”
Despite his nerves, Dean’s distracted enough by the absurdity of the deer head to snort. “Dude, how deep south are you?”
When Dean turns around, he finds Benny leaning back against the island, arms crossed as he stares at Dean. “Pretty deep,” he responds, and Christ, that drawl. It gets Dean every time, but pair it with the intimacy of the setting and the way Benny is staring at Dean as though he’s some kind of dessert and you’ve got instant chills running down his spine, his mouth turning dry as his lips hang open.
“I…” Dean’s throat clicks on a swallow, suddenly parched.
“You must be starving,” Benny provides, and it takes a surprising amount of willpower for Dean not to turn that into an innuendo. Calm down, Dean. This is you trying to prove you want something more than a quick fuck.
Dean tries really hard not to think about how good that fuck would be.
“Yeah, it’s about time you got something in me.”
Damn it!
Benny laughs heartily, uncrossing his arms and pushing off of the island. He unhitches a pan from the rack and draws a pair of tongs from a mounted cylinder, placing the pan on the stove while he sets the tongs aside. “You want a drink now, or later?” Benny asks, and when Dean confirms “later,” he moves to the fridge. “How do y’like your meat, Dean?” He asks, voice low and stupidly hot as he draws two slabs of meat from a drawer in the fridge.
Oh, so apparently two can play at this game.
“Thick,” Dean replies with a cheeky smile, his nerves steadily dissipating. “So, preferably well done.”
“Don’t you worry, Dean,” Benny says as he cuts away the saran wrap from the steaks. Dean can’t help but be caught by Benny’s handling of the knife, the way his fingers curl all the way around the hefty hilt. “I’ll make sure you’re nice an’ full by the end of the night.”
You fucker, Dean thinks, snapping out of his little fantasy. Dinner’s not even cooked yet and the guy already has him half hard. Why did he have to go ahead and pick the tight jeans for his date?
Aside from how great they make his ass look, that is.
“Anything I can do to help?” Dean asks, but once Benny dismisses the thought, he decides he has no problem watching the man cook. He lifts himself onto one of the stools that line the island. “How long have you been living here?”
Benny gives a thoughtful hum as he pulls a shaker of garlic salt from a small, rotating spice shelf on the counter. “Moved here just after I opened up the garage, so… ‘Bout nine years now.” He sprinkles the garlic salt onto the steaks, then a round of pepper. “Almost left once, but in the end I couldn’t do it.”
“Why?” Dean asks, brows furrowed. “Why did you almost leave, I mean?” Benny’s hand stills over the spice shelf, though only for a second. Dean feels it instantly, knows that he’s unintentionally hit a nerve. “Hey, you don’t have to answer that. I didn’t mean to—“
“Nah, nah, it ‘ain’t your fault. Walked myself right into that one,” catching Dean’s eye long enough to offer him a reassuring smile before he resumes preparing their dinner. “I didn’t move in here alone. I came with my fiancée,” Benny explains, which causes Dean’s eyebrows to shoot up. He never had a clue Benny had been engaged. “We ran away. Her family was none too sweet on me, and we… well, we were young and in love. That’s about the worst combination you can give any two people,” Benny jokes, but Dean can hear the underlying note of sobriety to it.
“Anyhow, things were good for a while, right up until they weren’t.”
“What happened?” Dean blurts before he can stop himself.
Benny shrugs. “‘Time goes on, people change. Andrea, she just…” The steaks sizzle loudly as they hit the pan. Benny exhales slowly, shaking his head a touch. “She changed her mind about the kind of life she wanted,” he finishes, and now Dean feels like a real asshole, his stomach drooped somewhere near his feet.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Dean says morosely as he slides off the stool, deciding now would probably be a good time for those drinks.
Benny looks over his shoulder, reaches out to catch Dean’s arm as he passes. “It’s not like that. I learned a long time ago that the past is just that—passed. It doesn’t hurt,” he says with so much sincerity that Dean feels himself relax almost immediately. Benny gives his arm a gentle squeeze. “Besides, I brought it up. I hope it’s not too painfully obvious how long it’s been since I done something like this.”
Dean laughs lightly, reaching up to clutch the hand Benny has over his arm. “No worries, man. I think I’ll take you up on that drink now,” he says, but when Benny goes to fetch the glasses, Dean stops him. “Nope, you stay here. You cook, I’ll get us some drinks.”
Reluctantly, Benny relents, releasing Dean’s arm. “Help yourself to anything that catches your eye,” he says as Dean ducks down to inspect the contents of the fridge.
The first thing Dean sees is his beer, which is what he initially reaches for, but something else catches his eye. He quirks a brow as he lifts a hefty bottle of wine out from a mounted slot along the side of the fridge, inspecting it. “Montes Alpha Chardonnay?” He reads off the label, glancing at Benny.
“You best not be laughin’ at my wine, Winchester.”
“No, no,” Dean assures, but he is most definitely laughing. “Just not what I was expecting to find is all.”
“Well, go on. Open ‘er up. Get our palates nice and cleansed,” he says, and the voice he puts on for that has Dean really starting to lose it. Southern accent impersonating a snooty British one might just be Dean’s new favorite thing.
Once he finds them in the cupboard, Dean sets two wine glasses on the island and picks the bottle back up. He inspects it for a moment before he grips the bottle and jams the corkscrew into the tip, wiggling it awkwardly before he tries to twist the cork out.
“Oh, Dean, hang on, you’re gonna wanna—“
Pop!
“Oh shit!” Dean hisses, because suddenly there’s wine splashing all over his chest and hand, swelling up from the bottle and spilling down onto the floor. Dean’s body battles between shock and mortification as he watches the alcohol spill and spill, and ultimately the latter wins out. “Shit, I’m sorry, fuck.”
“It’s fine, Dean, it’s fine,” Benny says, laughing all the while. He grasps Dean’s arms and guides him to the sink, where he places the bottle before he snatches a dish towel off a hook on the wall and begins patting away the dripping mess on Dean’s chest and arms, his other arm wrapped firmly around Dean’s waist, grounding him.
Slowly, Dean looks back at the mess on the floor and the vile mixture of embarrassment, shame and sheer anger with himself pools in his gut, makes his muscles twist and spasm. “I’m a fucking idiot,” he spits in irritation.
It’s not a second later that Benny’s abandoning the towel and turning Dean in his arms. “Hey, you heard me earlier. None of that,” he reminds, but Dean’s got his eyes stubbornly downcast. Once again Dean finds Benny cupping his face and gently easing his gaze upwards. “Hey, look’it me,” he says, soft, nearly pleading. It’s the kind of voice Dean can’t say no to, especially not after he’s managed such a dumb move. When their eyes meet, Benny’s lips draw up into a small smile.
“It’s alright, Dean. C’mon, let’s find you something to wear.” The next thing Dean knows is he’s being walked to what he assumes is Benny’s bedroom. Unfortunately, this is pretty much the least sexy way of being taken there that he ever could have imagined.
Dean’s silent on the way there, and he’s silent as Benny rummages through his drawers for something to give Dean. The bedroom isn’t lit well enough for Dean to really see any details, hovering in the doorway as he is, so he keeps his eyes on the ground, where he can see wine staining his pants.
Good going, Winchester.
Dean closes his eyes, wishing over and over he could go back to that moment and just not. It’s such a simple, silly kind of thing, but somehow Dean just can’t bring himself to laugh about it.
Who would have thought spilling some wine would force you to realize just how important a situation is to you?
“Dean, hey, you home up there?”
Dean snaps to attention, back going rigid as he looks up at Benny, blinking. “Uh, sorry, yeah, I’m good,” he says, but his voice is lacking the bolster from earlier, and the sad furrow of Benny’s brows just makes him feel worse. “Listen, I can just go—“
“Dean,” Benny addresses firmly, right before he places a folded pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt into Dean’s hands. He clutches Dean’s shoulders. “It’s just some wine, it’s alright. Trust me, I like you a whole lot more than that silly bottle out there, y’hear me?”
Hesitantly, Dean nods. When that doesn’t seem to be affirmation enough for Benny, he clears his throat and says, “Yeah, I hear you.”
“Good. Now go on, change. I can already smell my steaks burning,” he says, but before Dean can muster up another apology, Benny leans in and presses a surprise kiss right on Dean’s lips. It’s not quick, but it is surprisingly chaste, lingering until Dean manages to go from wide-eyed surprise to something more relaxed, his body slumping somewhat against Benny’s. “Much better,” Benny purrs as he draws away, leaving Dean in somewhat of a daze.
Benny pats Dean’s ass as he walks through the doorway. Finally, Dean’s beginning to feel some of his horror at the situation ebb away. The more he thinks about it, the more he can settle into the understanding that it’s just a little wine. Nothing he couldn’t afford to replace. Nothing that can’t be cleaned.
Which basically means Dean had a great big freak out and called himself a “fucking idiot” right in front of Benny for more or less nothing.
Damn it, Dean. Knock it off and just get these tight-ass jeans off already.
Dean has to peel the jeans off like they’re a second skin, wet denim sticking to his legs like tape. He pulls off his shirt as well and carries them as he makes his way to the bathroom adjoined to Benny’s bedroom. He wets a cloth to clean off his legs a little before, after a moment of deliberation, he drops his underwear as well.
What? He got wine on them, too.
He picks up the t-shirt Benny handed him, holding it out to take a look. There’s no logo or design, just a plain grey t-shirt. Even the labels are faded away. It’s soft, worn down by years and years of washes, and as Dean tugs it on he feels himself settle right away, lips drawn into a giddy little smile.
The pants are another matter altogether. They’re faded, like the shirt, but they’re green and decorated with dozens and dozens of ducks; Mallards, Dean thinks. They look like some kind of advertisement for Duck Hunt, and it makes Dean laugh more than it maybe should. “What a weirdo,” he mutters fondly before he pulls the pants up, tying the drawstring tight.
Now that he’s managed to clean himself up and get changed into the clothes Benny gave him, which he’s swimming in, he heads back towards the kitchen. He can smell the burned steak all the way there, but the truth of it really is a startle. They’re black as coal on one side, but luckily they’re thick enough cuts that Benny can get away with cutting off the burned surface.
“Not a total failure?” Dean asks. Benny glances up with a smile in place, but it falters when he sees Dean cozied up in his clothes. Dean can see the way Benny’s throat bobs as he swallows and it helps to restore some of his confidence.
“Not in the least,” is how Benny responds, licking his lips. Dean walks around the island so that he can stand next to Benny. After a moment of hesitation, he slides an arm around him while they both stare at the steaks. The meat is pretty grey, cooked a little too thoroughly, but it smells amazing.
“I did say well done,” Dean reminds. Benny shoots him a fond smile.
“That you did. Would you mind grabbin’ the potato salad?” He asks, seeming to have finally realized Dean’s happiest when he’s helping.
“I’m on it,” Dean says as he pulls away, heading to the fridge. The floor is clean of wine, and though Dean feels a little guilty for not even getting to help clean up, he pushes the thought aside, determined to make the rest of this date into a success. Dean grabs the potato salad along with two of the beers he’d brought, lightly kicks the fridge door shut and returns to the counter.
Once they’ve each got a full plate and cutlery, Benny leads Dean to the living room. “ ‘Fraid I ‘ain’t actually got a dining room anymore. Sort of sacrificed it to storage a couple years back,” Benny explains on the way. “Couch okay with you?”
“Couch is fine,” Dean assures him, plopping down next to Benny. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he looks around, he’s surprised to find there’s no television. In terms of entertainment, the only thing Dean spots is a few full bookshelves and several rows of vinyl records. “Wow. You’re pretty old school,” Dean says as he jabs his fork into his steak, sawing away at the meat. It’s still surprisingly tender.
Benny turns so he can face Dean, bringing one knee up onto the couch and resting his foot on the opposite knee. “Is that a bad thing?” He asks before bringing a forkful of potato salad to his lips.
Dean shakes his head, shifting to face Benny as well. He crosses both legs under himself, setting his plate in his lap. “No, it’s cool. I like it,” he says, and they both take a moment to smile at each other, enjoying the casual intimacy of the living room.
As they eat, Benny asks Dean about himself. Benny only knows as much as Dean’s casually mentioned to him during their time working together; that Dean lives with his father and his brother, though Benny doesn’t know why his mother isn’t in the picture. Dean goes on to say that he’ll be going to school for engineering once summer’s out because his best friend Charlie (who Dean has to explain is, in fact, a girl) convinced him he could, and that he didn’t have to settle for anything less than what he wanted out of life.
“I like her already,” Benny had said, which sent Dean onto a spiel about how ridiculous she could be, vowing to drag him to comic-con as soon as humanly possible.
Dean talked and talked, coaxed by Benny’s questions and encouragements. He doesn’t know exactly how much time has passed, but the candles around them have burned a little over half way down and between the two of them they’ve managed to finish off half of the 12case of beer that Dean had brought, along the entirety of their meals.
“God, I’m stuffed,” Dean groans, slumped against the couch with a hand on his stomach. He’s feeling warm and fuzzy all over, too complacent to ever want to move, but when he sees Benny lift his plate from his lap and lean over to set it on the coffee table, he makes a decision. He untangles his legs out from under him and crawls the short distance between him and Benny, forces the man to uncross his legs so he can settle in between them, resting his back to Benny’s chest. “Mm, much better,” he slurs, making Benny laugh.
“You gon’fall asleep on me, boy?” Benny asks, his drawl in full swing.
Dean just hums noncommittally, which turns appreciative when Benny crosses his arms over Dean’s torso, hands settling on his stomach. Dean makes a contented little sound when Benny starts smoothing his hand back and forth.
The ease with which their bodies fit should be strange, Dean thinks. He’s only actually known Benny for a couple of months, and even though they’ve already technically slept together, he feels like there should be more to this. A trick, a period of adjustment, but instead it just feels like pieces clicking together every time they touch.
“What’ch you thinkin’ ‘bout?” Benny asks, watching as Dean traces patterns along his arm with a fingertip. Dean shrugs.
“Nothing, this is just… Good. This is really good,” he says. He feels Benny’s arms tighten around him and a kiss being placed to the top of his head as Benny murmurs an agreement into the soft of Dean’s hair. Dean tilts his head and Benny gladly obliges the silent request, trailing the kisses down, scruff brushing along Dean’s ear. He shivers, closing his eyes. The stretched, oversized collar of the t-shirt leaves most of Dean’s neck completely exposed, which Benny takes advantage of, dropping soft kisses anywhere he can reach.
Reaching up to grasp the back of Benny’s neck, Dean turns and bumps Benny’s cheek lightly with his nose, pleased when Benny responds by meeting Dean’s lips, kissing him slow and lazy. The way Benny kisses drives Dean wild, supple presses of lips just open enough to leave a trace of wetness. He kisses like he wants to remember how it feels, imprint it on his lips and never forget.
Dean’s fingers tighten amongst the short strands at the back of Benny’s head, not quite long enough to grasp. He has to settle for pulling Benny closer with a flat palm, lips parting wider with every kiss until he’s got enough space to slip his tongue in, moaning in satisfaction as Benny reciprocates.
Benny’s hand is still sliding back and forth along Dean’s stomach, but he dips lower now, a little more of the shirt rising up with every upward slide. Even with the drawstring pulled tight, the pants hang low enough on Dean that Benny can play with the little spirals of hair exposed, fingertips dancing along the flesh, making Dean’s muscles jump and twitch.
Dean groans against Benny’s lips, reaching down with his free hand so that he can grab hold of Benny’s and push. urging Benny’s hand lower, where Dean’s cock has begun to fill out, pressing up against the thin fabric of the pajama pants. Benny chuckles lightly, moving from Dean’s lips so that he can kiss along Dean’s jaw while he slips his hand passed Dean’s waist band.
Benny’s got a groan of his own to offer when he realizes Dean is going completely commando under those pants. “Christ,” he murmurs, pushing his fingers through the course thatch of hair. Dean lifts his hips up into the touch, but Benny’s hands skates away, explores the crook where thigh meets pelvis.
Any other time, Dean might get impatient, but this is different. This isn’t their office, where every moment together was one more stolen. It’s not a seduction, really; that part's already done. This is two people taking the time to enjoy each other, which Dean is more than on board with.
Dean runs his hand along Benny’s arm, traces the scars and the underlying muscles. He tries to focus, to commit to memory the curvature his hand is following, but Benny proves a proficient distraction, massaging closer and closer until his hand finally curls around the base of Dean’s cock, destroying every ounce of concentration he might have had. He gasps softly, his hand tightening on Benny’s arm. He thrusts his hips shallowly, but Benny follows the movement, taking his time with flexing his grip, rubbing his thumb along the shaft.
The most frustrating part for Dean at this point isn’t the fact Benny’s taking it so slow, but the fact the action is completely hidden by the baggy fit of the pajama pants. With a shift, Dean manages to get his hands down and push the pants half way off, shimmying his hips a little to help. “Wanna watch,” he mutters before his hand returns to the back of Benny’s neck.
That helps speed things along a bit. Benny grunts something indistinguishable against Dean’s neck, tightens his grip and draws his hand slowly up the length of Dean’s shaft, then back down. He quickly finds his rhythm, keeping Dean clutched against his chest with one hand crossed over his torso.
Dean moans with complete abandon, thrusting up into Benny’s grip. It’s dry, but it’s good, the friction caused by Benny’s calloused hands dragging along his sensitive dick. “Hnn, fuck,” he groans, head lolling back against Benny’s shoulder. Just before it starts to get really good, Benny stops, exhales a shaky breath and draws his hand away.
“C’mon, sweetheart. Wanna do this proper. Wanna do you proper.”
“Hell yeah,” Dean breathes through a grin, clumsily yanking the pajama pants up as he hauls himself off the couch, with some help from Benny. The whole way to the bedroom, they can’t stop kissing. Dean can’t even tell who initiates it, just knows that it’s taking them twice as long as it should to get there because somehow he keeps ending up with his back against a wall. It’s happened again, Benny’s hands in his hair as they kiss fervently, Dean grinding on the thigh Benny’s shoved between his legs.
Dean yanks on the collar of Benny’s shirt, tilts his head so that he can mouth along Benny’s scruffy jaw, down his neck. He swirls his tongue in a circle before he sucks the skin into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth before moving onto the next spot.
“Benny, if you don’t move this along, I’m gonna come in these fuckin’ pants,” Dean pants out against Benny’s neck, nails biting into his broad shoulders. Benny laughs, drawing his leg away from between Dean’s and fuck, he already misses the weight of it, the friction. He needs to get these clothes out of the way as of now.
Benny’s hands fall to either side of Dean’s neck as he drags him in for one more lingering kiss before he pulls Dean from the wall, turning him around and guiding him to the bedroom. Dean stumbles somewhat ahead of Benny, reaches down to yank his pajama pants off. He’s only just managed to get his shirt off when he feels Benny slide up behind him, arms snaking around Dean’s waist, clothed chest pressing against Dean’s bare back.
“Christ, look so fuckin’ good,” Benny says, hands moving freely along Dean’s body. He traces patterns with his fingertips, scratches along his ribs and--
“Oh,” Dean gasps, arching his back. Benny does it again, an experimental swipe of his thumb over his nipple and now Dean knows he’s fucked. He tilts his head back and moans, pushes up into Benny’s hand because it’s been a long, long time since anyone’s touched him there like that. Benny uses both hands, rolls Dean’s nipples between his fingers, basing how hard he squeezes on how loudly Dean moans. “Not fair,” Dean manages to say, thrusting his ass back against Benny’s crotch.
Benny chuckles, a breathy sound that falls hot on the back of Dean’s neck. “Had no idea you were so sensitive there.” He does it again, lightly pinches Dean’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pulls, just enough to have Dean whining when he does it, sparks of pleasure shooting up and down his spine before honing in right to his crotch, making his cock jerk.
“Fuck, Benny,” Dean barely finishes the word, tapering off into a choked off keen as Benny pinches his nipple tighter, simultaneously biting down on his exposed shoulder, causing chills to ripple down Dean’s spine, intensifying everything that much more.
“Damn it,” Benny hisses under his breath, hands cruelly falling away from Dean’s chest. Dean already feels light headed by the time Benny’s turning him around and guiding him down onto the bed, letting him fall and bounce lightly on the plush surface.
Dean’s flushed, breathing unevenly as he watches Benny approach, undoing the buttons of his shirt with steady hands that Dean envies over his own twitchy, quivering ones. He clutches the sheets beneath him, licks his lips as Benny takes his damn time, staring down at Dean like he’s about to fucking devour him.
Dean really hopes he does.
“Any time now, old man,” Dean tries to tease, but his voice is too far from nonchalant. It’s near wrecked already, lips shiny, parted slightly around each breath he takes. Benny doesn’t respond, doesn’t so much as crack a smirk. He just continues to undo each button, one by one, which makes the throb in Dean’s cock that much worse.
Benny shrugs off his shirt, letting it drop to the ground before he kneels on the bed, sliding his hands up Dean’s spread legs.
“Pants,” Dean reminds him, pressing his foot against Benny’s thigh, easing him back. Benny smiles, sliding back off of the bed. His belt clinks softly as he unbuckles it, the leather hissing as he slides it through the belt loops. Dean bites his bottom lip, drags his teeth over it until it’s reddened even more.
Benny’s pants and boxers (which, Dean notes, are navy blue) drop to the ground and Dean’s breath hitches because he didn’t think he did, but he somehow managed to forget just how big Benny’s goddamn cock is.
He can already feel himself beginning to salivate, his legs spreading entirely of their own accord. “Fuck,” he says as Benny knee-walks back onto the bed, between Dean’s legs.
“Soon, sweetheart,” he purrs, hands falling to either side of Dean’s torso as he leans in to kiss him. Dean lifts his arms to put them around Benny’s neck, but the man stops him, grabbing Dean’s wrists and pinning them down as he kisses Dean, open-mouthed and wet. Dean groans in response, thrusts into empty air as Benny bites at his lip and flexes the grip he has on Dean’s wrists.
When Dean tries to lift his legs up around Benny’s waist, that’s when he finally lets go, moves his hands from Dean’s wrists to his thighs, easing them down. “Sshh, not yet, darlin’. Got somethin’ in mind for you first,” he says, and since Dean is on board for pretty much anything Benny puts on the table, he lets his legs sag back down to the bed.
Leaning over Dean, Benny reaches into the night stand drawer, fetching a condom and a bottle of lube. Dean never thought he’d be so happy to see a bottle of lube in his entire damn life, though the condom is somewhat of a letdown.
Still, they’d talked about it.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Benny said, holding Dean’s forearm. “This is for both of us, Dean. The wait, the precaution; trust me. It’s not because I don’t want to or don’t believe you. I’m asking you to understand that.”
Dean still doesn’t think he really understands, but at the same time the idea that Benny is determined to to prove to Dean not only that he’s clean, but that he wants to wait, wants to take the time to get to know Dean, to love Dean, before they engage in something like that…
“Y’still with me, Dean?”
Dean snaps out of his haze immediately, blinking up at Benny. “Yeah, yeah, M’here, m’good,” he says, drawing his knees up. He notices Benny’s set aside the lube and the cap, which has him furrowing his brows as be looks back to Benny. “Everything okay?”
Benny smiles. “Just fine. Turn over for me,” he says, placing a warm hand on Dean’s thigh. Dean’s obliges, making a show of it as he lifts himself up on his arms and curls his leg over, keeping his legs spread nice and wide as he settles on his hands and knees. “Like this?” Dean asks, wiggling his butt from side to side.
The response is a resounding smack to his ass that makes Dean gasp, jerking forward to moan into the comforter. Fuck, he hadn’t been expecting that. His thighs tremble when Benny does it again to the opposite cheek, his free hand falling to the dip of Dean’s spine, stroking back and forth.
Dean’s only responses fall from his lips as shuddering gasps and moans, his forehead resting on his folded arms, ass kept high in the air. He tries to keep track of the blows, but after a handful more he finds himself too focused on the sensation of it, the sting that fades into a tingling burn, the weight of Benny’s hand on his back keeping him safe and grounded.
He feels himself clench with every blow, a constant reminder of how empty he feels, how badly he wants to feel Benny inside him, the repeated press of his thighs against Dean’s as he sends him flying over the edge with every thrust. Another slap, harder this time, and Dean cries out, the sound dying off into a moan as he completely lets go of himself.
Benny slaps a few more times before he switches to soothing rubs along Dean’s reddened cheeks, steady against the way Dean’s whole body is shaking. Dean startles when he feels a wet kiss pressed to his smarting left ass cheek, and then the right, Benny’s beard itching at the skin. “Christ, the noises you make. Love it, don’t you?” He asks, almost reverently.
Dean manages a nod, struggling to gather his breath. The lingering burn and the phantom sting of it keeps Dean right on the edge, sensitive and wanting still. “Y-yeah, s’good, fuck… Feels so good…”
“I know, sweetheart, I know. Gonna take care of you,” Benny promises, and Dean can feel the words spoken on his skin, hot puffs of air skating along his exposed hole as Benny spreads his cheeks apart. Dean suspects he knows what’s coming, but it still fails to prepare him for the shock of a wet, heated tongue sliding over his hole, makes him clench and bite into the blanket gathered up in his arms.
“Ffffuck,” Dean groans, half muffled by the comforter. Benny just rubs his thumbs back and forth, swirls his tongue in tight circles before transitioning to long upward swipes, teasing Dean’s hole as it flutters and clenches, empty and begging to be filled. Dean rocks back against Benny’s tongue, keening as it traces clever patterns, lighting up nerves Dean tends to forget he even has.
At the first rigid prod of Benny’s tongue, Dean is practically shoving back, wanting so badly to have something to clench around, to take that need and fuck it into oblivion, but Benny’s tongue shies away and the sound he gives is a loud, irritated hiss of breath, rocking his hips impatiently. “Benny, c’mon, fuck. Give me something to work with here,” he demands, but Benny just keeps going, licks and down and drags his tongue where Dean wants it in him.
All Dean can do is submit, drop his head back down onto his arms and writhe as Benny licks, beard slowly scratching a delicious burn between Dean’s thighs. Suddenly there’s a scrape of teeth instead of tongue and Dean gasps, jerking forward before he settles back. “Oh, fuck, do that again, please,” he moans, and Benny does, alternates between firm licks and soft almost-bites that have Dean squirming so badly that Benny has to dig his dull nails into the meat of Dean’s ass to keep him still.
“I got you, darlin’, I got you,” Benny murmurs, and then finally, Dean feels the liquid hot slide of Benny’s tongue pressing into his ass. It’s unbelievably just how deep Dean feels it, just how long Benny’s tongue is. Dean feels himself clench around it and it makes his breath stutter, has him crying out because Jesus Christ, who would have thought he’d like a tongue up his ass so goddamn much?
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, Fuck, Benny, feels so good,” Dean pants, over and over, shamelessly fucking back onto Benny’s tongue as it plunges in and out. One of Benny’s hands fall away, and while Dean doesn’t hear the click of the cap open, he feels it when Benny’s tongue is suddenly replaced by a cool drizzle of lube. He gasps, hips jerking in surprise, but Benny holds tight onto his hip with one hand, hushing him before he presses a warm thumb to Dean’s hole, rubbing the lube in and warming it up.
“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, but Dean pays it no mind, pushing insistently back against Benny’s thumb.
“Don’t be sorry, just hurry up and fuck me already,” he demands, making Benny laugh.
“Alright, Dean, don’t you worry. I’ll get you there.” Benny switches out his thumb for his index finger, swirling it a moment in the lube before he presses his finger in slowly, twisting, holding Dean steady as the digit gradually disappears into the clench of his body. “S'tight, damn.”
Dean laughs a little, though it’s more of a pant, pushing back against Benny’s finger. The first time they’d done this, Dean had already fucked himself pretty good with his own fingers beforehand. This time, he’s completely prep-free, leaving all the work entirely up to Benny. “You like that? Y’wanna fuck my ass, all tight and wet?”
Benny groans, crooking his finger as it slides all the way in. Drawing his finger back, Benny carefully adds a second, along with an extra squirt of cold lube that sends chills rocketing up Dean’s spine, the contrast of hot and cold making him writhe as much as the stretch of it all, as much as Benny’s words.
“Yeah, fuck, c’mon. Give it to me,” Dean pleads, rolling his hips to try and force Benny’s fingers in deeper, faster. Benny holds steady though, keeps himself careful as Dean slowly opens up around his fingers.
It’s a shock to Dean’s entire system when he feels the swipe of Benny’s tongue along his stretched rim, feels Benny licking eagerly at him at the same time he continues to press those thick fingers in, tongue swirling around them and driving Dean up the goddamn wall. “Jesus fuck, Benny, yeah, want it so bad,” he babbles, hardly even coherent as he tries to focus on both the stretch of his hole and the way Benny’s tongue sparks heat all over.
Dean loses himself in the pleasure, fucking himself back on Benny’s fingers, crying out when Benny scissors them so that he can slip his tongue in between them, the both of them a wet mess of lube and saliva. His cheeks are burning from the earlier assault and his thighs are so sensitive, roughed up by the drag of Benny’s beard. There are too many sensations to focus on, to the point where it just becomes a blur, a perpetual haze of pleasure that Dean never wants to find his way out of.
The pressure is building, building, but Dean doesn’t know how to say it. Doesn’t think he could if he wanted to. There’s a constant stream of what might be words falling from his lips, all of them sounding like please, God, fuck, Benny, deeper, but for all Dean knows it could be complete gibberish. Dean lets go what sounds suspiciously like a sob into the crook of his arm, Benny’s tongue fucking in alongside his fingers and that’s just no kind of goddamn fair.
Then it happens, Benny crooks his fingers just right and Dean is choking on his own breath, his body desperately trying to curl in on itself as he comes, lightning sparking up and down his spine and Benny is still fucking him, three fingers slamming in and out at that same damnable angle that has Dean crying out through his orgasm, the chills going on for ages and ages until Dean has to beg Benny to stop, to let him breathe.
Dean’s not sure that he gets the proper words out, but Benny seems to get the message, sitting up and easing his fingers out. Dean immediately collapses to the side, heaving in gulps of air. “Fucking hell,” Dean breathes, folding his arm over his eyes. He feels like he can’t possibly get enough air in, his ass and thighs tingling in the most amazing way.
Benny just hums, sliding up the bed so that he can drop a messy, wet kiss to Dean’s lips, the lube making it twice as slippery. Dean unfolds his arm and wraps both around Benny’s neck, dragging him down for a harder press, licking the wetness from Benny’s mouth. “Shit, didn’t mean to come so fast, I just—“
“Don’t,” Benny tells him, helping to turn Dean properly on his back before he drops a few more kisses to his lips, his cheek, his jaw. “Don’t you even think about apologizin’ for that.”
Dean grins, drags Benny in for another kiss, his movements languid and lazy in the haze of post-orgasm. He hasn’t forgotten Benny, though, not in the least, and he certainly hasn’t forgotten how badly he wants to be fucked by that cock of his. After patting around on the bed a moment, Dean finds the condom and shoves it towards Benny. “C’mon, suit up. Want you in me,” he says, nipping at the fuzzy bolt of Benny’s jaw. “Won’t take me long to get hard.”
“If I fuck you right after that, it’s gon’ be Gone in Sixty Seconds all over again,” Benny tells him solemnly, which draws a sharp laugh out of Dean. Looking down, Dean’s pretty damn apologetic for the state of Benny’s cock, thick and straining, precome dribbling from the head. Fuck, though, Dean wants nothing but to get his mouth on it, to feel it split him open. He groans, limp cock giving a valiant twitch.
“I need somethin’ man. Don’t keep me running on empty,” Dean begs, and by the look on Benny’s face, he’s definitely feeling like he’s winning this battle.
Benny licks his lips, seeming to be contemplating something. “Dean, just how… adventurous would you call yourself?”
Dean blinks. “Uh, considering you just ate out my ass, I’d say pretty damn adventurous.”
Benny laughs, scratching his nose. “Alright, fair enough.”
Reaching back down to the drawer of the night table, Benny rustles around a moment before he finds what he’s looking for, and when he shows it to Dean, Dean’s mouth drops.
It’s a dildo. Simple as far as they go: black silicone with a smooth, though slightly realistic shape. It’s not quite as thick as Benny, but it’s still thick, and the idea of Benny using it on him until he’s hard again, ready for a good fuck, makes Dean’s lax muscles spasm in anticipation.
“Dude,” Dean says, looking slowly from the fake cock to Benny. “Fuck yes.”
Benny smiles as he picks up the bottle of lube, gives the toy a liberal coating of lube. Dean shimmies into place, avoiding the impressive wet spot he just made, and settles on his back this time, spreading his legs, knees in the air as Benny sits between them.
“You sure you don’t want a minute to recover?” Benny asks, but Dean shakes his head.
“Nah, man, go for it,” Dean encourages, lifting his hips at the same time, reminding Benny exactly what it is he’s going for.
Benny’s eyes drop, follow the liquid-smooth flow of Dean’s body as he rolls his hips. Benny takes a deep breath before he places a hand on Dean’s hip, steadying him as he places the toy at Dean’s slick, waiting hole. Gradually, he begins to push the dildo in. It’s slow, too slow, considering how loose and fucked out Dean already is.
“Faster,” Dean murmurs, trying to lift up, to take more, to feel the slight burn of it, but Benny keeps him pinned, gaze flickering between Dean’s face and down between his legs, where the toy is stretching Dean further yet.
“Christ,” Benny murmurs, like he’s seeing it for the first time, voice reedy with a sort of awe that somehow makes Dean feel both self-conscious and like some kind of sex god at the same time. Dean just moans his appreciation, shoving his hands under the pillow beneath his head and arching his back, biting down on his tongue as he feels himself stretch out around the toy.
“So good,” Dean sighs, trying to encourage Benny faster, deeper, harder. “Fuck, want you. Wanna feel it.”
“I know what you want,” Benny coos, hushing Dean gently as he leans over him, their mouths meeting in open, filthy wet presses. Dean can feel his cock beginning to pulse to life, blessing over and over the inherent stamina a 20-year-old gets, and begins to fuck himself even more eagerly on the fake dick, reminding himself that once he’s hard again, Benny is his reward.
That said, he hardly needs the incentive when the toy suddenly buzzes to life, causing Dean to choke on his own breath, shudders rippling through his entire body as Benny continues to fuck him with what Dean now realizes is a vibrator, not a dildo.
Dean spasms, his body jackknifing up into Benny, their chests pressed together as Dean grinds, nonsense pouring from his lips as he helplessly rides it out, nails biting into the pillow so hard he thinks he might tear it apart. “Oh fucking, f-fuck, Benny, shit! ”
“I know, sweetheart,” Benny murmurs, dropping butterfly kisses along Dean’s jaw, down his neck and then back up towards his ear. “That’s it. Like that? Look so good, darlin’. Get nice and hard for me. Gonna fuck you, gonna make it so good.”
Dean chokes out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob, pulling his arms out from underneath the pillow so he can clutch at Benny, grabbing wherever he can reach; arms, shoulders, neck, anywhere he can. Benny pushes the vibrator in deep, keeps it there and let’s Dean work himself on it, rolling his hips and burying his face in the crook of Benny’s neck.
“Touch me,” Dean pleads, the wet head of his cock barely rubbing against Benny’s stomach. “C’mon, please, wanna feel you. Want you to feel me getting hard for you,” he says, groaning when Benny suddenly bites down on his neck at the same time he wraps a hand around Dean’s half hard cock, his grip so firm that it sends Dean into a fucking frenzy, hips slamming up into the tunnel of Benny’s fist and then back down onto the vibrator.
Dean knows he’s ready now, his cock throbbing in Benny’s hand, but he doesn’t have the presence of mind to articulate it. He finds it in himself to slow himself down, to squeeze Benny’s arm and pant out please so hoarsely that he’s barely sure he said anything at all.
It does the trick though, because the next moment he hears the vibrator click off, feels it slide out. Benny pulls away from Dean’s hold, but not before he catches his lips in a hard, hungry kiss. “Got no idea what you do to me,” he murmured as he pulled away, adjusting himself between Dean’s legs.
“So show me,” Dean shoots back, curling his legs around Benny’s waist, ankles pushing into his lower back. “Fuck me.”
How anyone could ever say no to that request coming from that mouth, Benny will never know.
He clearly has no intention to.
Dean licks his lips eagerly, watches as Benny tears the foil packet and quickly rolls the condom down onto his cock, the stretch of the latex making Dean’s hole clench in anticipation. Benny’s hands fall on Dean’s hips and he yanks him into his lap, causing Dean’s stomach to jump up into his throat. Dean grins, wrapping his legs properly around Benny’s waist as the guy effortlessly manhandles him into place, Dean’s ass in his lap while his back stays flat on the bed.
“Gonna make me do all the work, aren't’cha?” Benny teases while he angles himself, gripping the base of his cock as he rubs the head of it along the wet circle of Dean’s rim. “Just gonna lay there and take it.”
“Only if you’re any good at it, and hurry the hell up,” Dean responds, but it ends on a shaky breath as Benny pushes in, and Dean finally feels it, the perfect stretch around the fat head of Benny’s cock. Dean throws his head back against the pillow, reaches down to grasp at Benny’s wrists, holding them while Benny holds his hips.
With the way Benny’s sitting on his own legs, it doesn’t give him much leverage to thrust, but apparently he doesn’t need it. One minute Dean’s adjusting to the fit of Benny inside of him, to the too-good stretch and fullness, and the next he’s being pushed forward and then slammed back down as Benny uses nothing but his grip on Dean to fuck him, hardly moving his hips at all.
“Fuck yes,” Dean hisses, the words barely spilling through grit teeth. Benny is relentless, yanking Dean down onto his cock again and again, biting bruises into his hips that Dean’s already looking forward to, his hands wrapped so tightly around Benny’s wrist that he’s sure he’s cutting off the circulation. “Yeah, yeah, f-fuck, Benny!”
Benny’s lips are parted around each shallow breath he takes, eyes flickering from Dean’s face to his bobbing cock. Dean can feel the precome smearing on his stomach, that tiny bit of friction on the head of his cock enough to send sparks running up and down his spine, still sensitive from his first orgasm. The pressure’s beginning to swell, his balls drawing up tight. He flexes his legs around Benny’s waist, tried to add to it, to drive himself down harder, faster, but the angle isn’t quite right. Dean needs more.
His fingers twitch, still wrapped tightly around Benny’s wrists. “I—I need, Benny, my cock, please,” he manages to say, hips jerking up uselessly into the air. He chokes on a breath as Benny pulls him down especially hard, making him moan loud enough to be embarrassed about later.
“Go on, sweetheart. Grab hold of yourself. Let me watch,” Benny growls, the usual soft timbre of his voice lost to this sex-ruined grit of a sound. Dean gives a silent hallelujah as he lets go of one of Benny’s wrists and takes an equally tight hold of his own cock, jacking it furiously in his haste to add relief to the pounding ache of it.
“Slow down, Dean,” Benny coos, drawing a sharp little keen out of Dean, who still manages to comply, slowing his pace to make the drag of Benny’s cock inside of him. “That’s it. That’s it, Dean, so good for me. That’s it, sweetheart, I’m close now.”
Dean throws his head back, cries out because he can feel himself fragmenting, the very seams of his being coming apart as Benny fucks him, and he can’t keep the slide of his hand even anymore, his grip becoming too tight on skin that’s just a little bit too dry. “Fuck, Benny, I’m—“
Benny pushes Dean so far forward that his cock almost slips right out before he drives Dean down onto his cock, and it’s enough to snap the final thread keeping Dean together. His whole body arches almost completely off the bed as he comes, ribbons of white spraying up his stomach and chest, nearly reaching his neck.
Dean barely feels Benny’s hands spasm on his hips through the pleasure-haze of his orgasm, but he manages to open his eyes in time to see the way Benny curls forward, gasping as he stills inside of Dean, moaning out a continuous mantra of praise, the words blending together until they’re lost completely, but Dean still feels the warmth and sincerity wash over him like a wave, mingling pleasantly with the aftermath of his climax.
They stay like that for a little while, Dean’s legs hanging loosely around Benny’s waist while Benny hovers over him, hands planted on the bed. After a bit of time and a soft, satisfied sigh, Benny shifts his legs out from under him and leans down, presses kisses starting from Dean’s hips and makes his way upwards.
Dean lifts a hand to run through Benny’s short hair, eyes closed as he allows himself to just enjoy the attention. His stomach jumps a little when he feels Benny’s tongue slide along his skin, can’t help the little whine that slips free. Benny drags his tongue lazily along the trails of come that decorate Dean’s torso, following it up all the way to his chest. He swirls his tongue purposefully over Dean’s nipple before he bites down a little, just until Dean rewards him with a moan.
“Taste as good as you look,” Benny murmurs contentedly, sliding over to pay the same respects to Dean’s other nipple. Dean manages a laugh, but not much else, his breath still uneven as Benny sucks and bites one of Dean’s most sensitive hot spots. When it starts to be too much, Dean cups Benny’s face and tugs him upwards.
“Kiss’m,” Dean slurs, but it’s good enough for Benny, who raises himself up to drop a wet, salty kiss to Dean’s lip. Dean is more than glad to help Benny clean up, sliding his tongue between them to lick the flavor of himself from Benny’s mouth. “I do taste good,” he says, which has Benny chuckling.
“Is that an invitation for thirds?” Benny asks, his cock slipping free as he raises himself back up, hands sliding down Dean’s thighs.
“Shit, dude, give me a break,” Dean laughs, lifting his leg so he can kick playfully at Benny’s arm. “I just came twice in like, fifteen minutes.”
Benny grabs hold of Dean’s foot, lifts it up so that he can kiss at his ankle. “You opposed to goin’ for a record?”
“I’m opposed to the fact your cheating ass always makes me come twice before you do,” Dean responds, lifting his other leg and pressing his foot firmly against Benny’s chest, pushing half-heartedly. Benny grins, catching Dean’s other foot as well and pushing them to the side.
Before Dean knows it, they’re wrestling. Dean tries to roll over, to twist out of Benny’s grasp, but he’s not nearly as flexible as he’d like to be, so all he manages to do is turn sideways on the bed while Benny pins his legs under his arm and against his ribs. Dean can feel the rumble of Benny’s laughter against his shins, but he doesn’t really start to struggle until Benny’s free hand skates down along the back of his thigh and knee.
Dean’s laughter sharp, unexpected, and he sees Benny’s eyebrows shoot up, not having expected the reaction. There’s only a split second of confusion before Benny realizes what he’s just discovered. “Oh,” he says.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Dean warns, but it’s too late. There’s a predatory kind of glint in Benny’s eye and Dean has the dreadful feeling he knows exactly where this is going. “I swear to God, Benny, I take no responsibility for what happens if you—“
And then it happens. All Dean manages is a choked out hey! before Benny is in all-out attack mode, skittering his fingers along the backs of Dean’s legs, narrowly avoiding getting punched in the face when Dean’s limbs flail about.
“I’m gonna kill you!” Dean cries out between the bouts of laughter, twisting and twisting in Benny’s grip. “I swear to God, I—“
And then suddenly Benny’s making a sound Dean’s never heard from him before, a gnarled sort of gasp that comes off like a mix between surprise and pain. The laughter vanishes immediately, and as soon as his legs are dropped, Dean is up on his knees, hands flying out to support Benny when he hunches forward, easing the fall as Benny drops down onto the bed.
“Hey, hey, are you alright? Benny? Hey, talk to me, man,” Dean pleads, thinking he’s managed to inflict some kind of horrific injury on their first date. “What’d I do?”
“Shit,” Benny grumbles, rolling from his side onto his stomach. He lets out another groan and now Dean is really starting to panic, wondering if he should call an ambulance or— “I think I threw out my back.”
Dean’s knee-jerk reaction is laughter. It’s not out of actual amusement, but a flood of relief and a nervous reaction to the guilt. “Shit, that’s not funny, I’m sorry. Here, here, let me just…” Dean moves to Benny’s side, running his hands careful along Benny’s back. “Tell me where it hurts.”
“This is embarrassing,” Benny sighs, folding his arms beneath his head. Dean’s hand drags across the afflicted muscle and he grunts. “There, right there.”
Dean rubs careful circles, gauging what pressure to use depending on Benny’s reaction. “Hey, it’s alright. Happens to my dad all the time,” he says, only afterwards realizing that it was probably a pretty big mistake to compare his current lover to his dad.
Benny groans. Loudly. “Just what I wanted to hear.”
Dean can’t help it, he starts laughing. Benny hides his face in his pillow, arms folded above his head, but Dean can see the dark red blush creeping all the way up to his ears. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” Dean promises, leaning forward to kiss over top of where his hands are massaging. “Well, unless you’d want me to mean it like that. How’s that line go? Something about sugar for—“
“Dean,” Benny grunts, sounding suspiciously like a warning. “I feel like an old man,” he says dejectedly.
Dean grins, but relents, letting go of the joke. For now. “You want me to get you some ice?”
After a moment, Benny sighs. “Yeah, please.”
Dean kisses his shoulder. “Hey, just remember. You’re my old man.”
After cleaning up a bit, they spend the rest of the night in bed, Dean pressed up against Benny with the man’s arm slung over his shoulders. By the time morning rolls around, Dean will be thoroughly impressed by how quickly he fell asleep in unfamiliar surroundings, but for now he’s happy to bask in the undeniable sense of home sleeping next to Benny brings.