Title: The Farewell Job [1/1]
Author: alakewood
Warning: Slash (Dean Winchester/Eliot Spencer).
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1800+
Summary: Dean is waiting in Eliot's apartment for him when he returns from a job to collect on the promise of a favor Eliot had made him the first (and last) time they'd seen each other.
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.
A/N: Sequel to The Winchester Walk-away. Takes place near the end of SPN's third season.

oxoxo

Eliot pushed through the door of his small apartment on the outskirts of Dallas, feeling filthy and tired. It was barely four in the afternoon, but he'd constantly been on the move the past two days, eighteen hours of which were spent in the air. He'd had a job in West Africa – from which he'd gotten three cracked ribs and probably a bruised kidney – and had boarded a small, private plane in Bamako, Mali, that took him to Paris, and from Paris to Dallas.

He locked the door behind himself, kicked out of his boots and shrugged off his torn jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch. It was dark in the small living room, but his eyes had adjusted enough that he could just barely make out the shape of a man in the chair just opposite the couch. He widened his stance on the worn carpet, balled his hands into fists. "Who the fuck're you?"

There was a low chuckle as the man stood up, pale flesh of his palms displayed as he held his hands up placatingly. "Not here to hurt you, Eliot. Unless you want me to."

That voice was vaguely familiar and it took a moment to place it. "Dean."

"Yeah. You're way too easy to track down, man. Should do something about that, considering how many warrants – not to mention bounties - are out for you."

Eliot relaxed his stance but didn't move. "What are you doing here?"

Dean rounded the couch to stand in front of Eliot. "Might be the last time I get to see you," Dean said, paused, and quickly added, "for a while."

Eliot felt the heaviness of Dean's words, didn't quite believe the rushed amendment to them. Thought for a while sounded more like ever. "What's going on?"

Dean shook his head, stepped closer. "Nothing to worry about. Everything's fine. How are you? Where've you been?"

Dean stood close enough Eliot could feel the heat of his body and he wanted so badly to touch. The connection they had was insane, but undeniable. "Had a job. In Africa. I'm good. A little banged up, but you should see the other guys."

Dean laughed, reached a hand out to grip Eliot's hip. "Bet you put 'em through a world of hurt." He shifted closer, brushed his nose against the underside of Eliot's stubbled jaw. "This okay?"

Eliot made to reach for Dean, but winced and drew in a harsh breath, pain of his cracked ribs sparking bright. "Yeah," he gasped. "It's good."

"You okay?"

"Cracked a couple ribs. I'll be fine."

Dean snorted, turned them so he was behind Eliot and gave him a gentle shove towards the bathroom. "Get showered and I'll get you taped up. Then we can figure out the best way this is going to work."

"Best way what's going to work?" Eliot asked from the bathroom doorway, hand on the light switch.

"Thought you were going to return the favor the next time we saw each other?" Dean hovered by the front door, grip light on the doorknob.

Eliot didn't say anything, just nodded and flipped the switch, disappearing into the bathroom. He stripped slowly, gingerly pulled his shirt over his head, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans before shoving them and his underwear as far down his thighs as he could manage, kicking them off the rest of the way, then used his toes to peel off his socks. In the shower stall, he stood beneath the spray, water as hot as he could handle it, and watched the dirt and blood rinse off his body and swirl down the drain. He could feel the grit of sand in his hair as he washed it, felt the pull of his ribs when he raised his arms too high. After quickly rinsing, he stepped from the stall and wrapped a towel around his waist.

The light was on in Eliot's room when he entered the hallway, Dean sitting on his bed with a couple Ace bandages in his lap. He stood when Eliot walked through the doorway, eyes scanning the bruises marring Eliot's chest and stomach. "C'mere." Eliot crossed the short distance to stand before the taller man and Dean's hands smoothed over his skin. "Where's it hurt worst?"

"Here." Eliot gestures towards the darkest of the bruising, where ribs six through eight were.

Dean let Eliot exhale completely before he began wrapping the bandage around his torso in a figure-eight pattern. "Not too tight is it?"

"No, doc, just right."

Dean smirked up at him and took hold of the towel around his waist, tugging it off and letting it drop to the floor. "So I was thinking."

"Yeah?" Eliot reached for Dean's overshirt, started on the buttons.

"Maybe I could ride you. Unless you got objections to that."

Eliot's breath hitched in his chest just at the thought. "No objections." He slipped the shirt from Dean's shoulders and let it join his towel on the floor. He watched Dean strip his own shirt off and his jeans and underwear followed. Hands tangled in Eliot's dripping wet hair, Dean pulled him in for a slow kiss, bodies brushing from chest to thigh, half-hard dicks nudging between their hips.

"Lay down."

Eliot slowly sank down to the mattress, carefully laid back onto his pillows and spread his legs in invitation. "What're you waitin' for, Winchester?"

Dean shook his head, gaze focused between Eliot's thighs, his hand skimming down his abs to stroke at his cock. "Nothin'. Just enjoying the view." He knelt on the mattress between Eliot's ankles, braced his hands on either side of Eliot's hips, and lowered his head to suck at Eliot's dick.

"Shit." Eliot's hips rose off the mattress to follow the heat of Dean's mouth, ribs twinging with pain at the movement.

"You got lube?" Dean asked before closing his lips over the head once more.

"Mm. Why do you get special treatment?" Dean hadn't used more than his own saliva to work Eliot open the last time.

"'Cause I'm asking." He swallowed Eliot down again, callused fingers rolling his balls.

Eliot flung a hand out towards the nightstand. "Top- top drawer."

Dean climbed up his body, leaned over him to open the drawer and retrieve the small bottle. He settled back over Eliot's hips, knees along his sides, and slicked his fingers before slipping his hand behind himself.

Eliot's hands moved to Dean's ass, spread the cheeks apart while Dean worked himself open. "Fuck," he breathed as he pressed a finger into the slick, tight heat along Dean's twisting digits.

"Gonna be so good," Dean said a few short minutes later, rising up on his knees, fingers curling around Eliot's leaking cock and positioning him at his entrance. "Oh, God." He moaned as he sunk down onto Eliot's shaft.

Eliot's hands settled on Dean's hips, eyes trained on Dean's face as he rose up and slid back down slowly. It felt so much different than the last time, less rushed, less frantic. "You're so fuckin' tight, Dean," he groaned as Dean's inner muscles clenched around him.

"Don't- don't give it up to just anyone," Dean said, echoing Eliot's exact words from when Dean was buried inside him. His laugh was aborted when Eliot's hand wrapped around his flushed cock. He exhaled sharply through his nose, sinking down completely onto Eliot's dick, circling his hips, head thrown back as Eliot continued to jack him.

It wasn't quite enough, felt like a tease. "C'mon, man."

Dean brace his hands on his thighs, lifted up and slammed back down, mouth falling open on a harsh gasp as the head of Eliot's cock rammed into his prostate. "I'm gonna..."

"Yeah. Yeah, do it." Eliot tightened his grip, stroked a little rougher, thumb catching the slit.

A couple more hard thrusts down and Dean was coming over Eliot's hand and his own belly, thick and hot. "Fuck."

Eliot could feel the fluttering of Dean's tight heat around him as Dean continued to ride him and it wasn't long before he was coming as well. Hands slipping up and down Dean's thighs, he continued to pulse inside the younger man until, finally spent, he tugged at Dean's hips. "Mm. So good, Dean."

Dean breathed roughly as he lifted up off Eliot's cock and let it slip from his hole. He patted Eliot's come-slick hip. "Be right back." After flipping on the lamp atop the nightstand, he slowly walked from the room a little more bowlegged than usual.

"Might have to keep you around," Eliot said when Dean returned with a damp washrag a couple minutes later, flipping off the overhead light as he reentered the room. "Kinda nice to have somebody takin' care of me."

"I'm no nursemaid," Dean scoffed, but his smirk wasn't nearly as smug as it had been earlier. He cleaned Eliot's thighs and stomach and dropped the wet rag onto Eliot's abandoned towel.

"How long can you stay?" Eliot asked as Dean climbed back onto the bed, carefully tugging the blankets out from beneath his weight.

"Not long. Should probably head out soon." He reached up and clicked the lamp off.

"Stay the night." Eliot was quite aware that he'd skipped out on Dean that first time, but he couldn't get over how different everything felt now. Like whatever this thing was between them was ending instead of just beginning. Dean settled beside him, covered them with the blanket, pressed against his side.

"I can stay for a little while." Dean's thigh slipped between Eliot's as he shifted closer, covered Eliot's mouth with his own.

They kissed for a few minutes, Dean leaning up on his elbow so Eliot didn't have to strain his ribs. "You okay?" Eliot whispered when Dean dropped back down to the mattress.

"Yeah. Just been a rough year's all."

"You sure that's all?" He couldn't shake the feeling that something bigger was happening. Something huge; something about Dean.

"Yeah." He pulled away from Eliot, slipped out from under the blankets and moved towards the foot of the bed where his clothes were heaped in a pile. He slowly dressed, stood there for a moment, staring at Eliot through the darkness. "Take care of yourself, huh?"

"Dean?" Eliot tried to get his elbows under him despite the pain that flared across his chest. "Hey."

"Goodbye, Eliot."

Dean was gone before Eliot could even climb out of bed, the front door closing loudly by the time his feet hit the carpet. Through the agonizing hurt that burned around his cracked ribs, he felt the heavy weight of Dean's words sinking in his stomach like lead. Dean's goodbye hadn't meant see you later, it meant goodbye. A final kind of never-going-to-see-you-ever-again goodbye, definite and certain. And there was nothing Eliot could do about it.