TITLE; Yanks in the UK
SERIES; 30 Grains of Powder
FANDOM; Supernatural
CHARACTERS; Dean W. / Ben Braeden
RATING NC/17
WIP OR COMPLETE; Complete
WARNINGS. Slash
DISCLAIMER; Not mine, just playing
Summary; Dean and Sam is in England for a hunt. Dean is drunk off his arse and wakes up in bed next to a teen that looks too familiar for his comfort. slash angst
moral disclaimer; Ben is 16, the age of consent in Britain. Since Dean is in his mid 30s, Ben needed to be older for me to not be squicky about writing this, but f*ing with the timeline too much kinda ruins the point of the story. So there.
'Don't Leave Me' by RunawayBaby gave me the idea for this story. Read it, cause it's heartbreaking. Frankly, I had never even thought of the pairing, so thank you for being inspirational!
This is the first installment of a series of oneshots called '30 Grains of Powder'- because the Winchester Rifle holds 30'30, and the text installment will be put in here as a second chapter- it's easier to keep track of things that way!
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Dean woke up with a jack hammer going off inside of his head. A stray thought went to that that motels in England were not better than the ones in the US. It wasn't just his head, but everything that was throbbing in steady pace with his heart. Even his dick was sore.
Tanned flesh slid under his hands as he thrust deeply into the strangling heat of the body beneath him.
Dean groaned. Getting laid was a good thing. The bad thing was that the lay in question was at the moment halfway beneath him. Dean lay plastered against the back of a sweet smelling youth. His nose was buried in a mane of dark hair. Damn, he was getting hard again.
"Dean-" the youth gasped in ecstasy.
Dean smirked as the memories returned to him. He'd made an impression, that was for sure. He had no idea how he could be getting hard again, with how shit he was feeling right now. Frankly, he had no idea how he'd stayed hard long enough to have this beauty screaming at all. He ran a hand over his partner in crime's chest. Dean paused and did it again. He bit his lip. There was no mistaken; either this was a chick with nothing to offer, or it was a dude. He mentally cursed at himself, but otherwise was not too bothered. With the amounts he drank, it was bound to happen sometime.
Dean grasped the dick in front of his face and gave it a long swipe of his tongue as he thrust his fingers deep. The young man reared off the bed as his fingers roughly stabbed a firm spot. Dean pressed his hand deeper.
Ben woke to find rough hands sliding over his chest, and down to his privates. The world felt... strangely calm. He had expected to wake up alone. He'd expected having to nurse his hangover and his no-longer-virgin ass all by his lonesome. But by the quickly hardening length he felt growing along his crease, it seemed it would have to accept some more rough treatment.
He nearly screamed as he felt Dean's knuckles press part his tense ring. Four fingers, to the upper knuckle. "C'mon, you can take it," he heard Dean from between his legs. He felt, rather than saw Dean fold up his thumb and force his entire hand into is untried body.
Dean closed his eyes and bit back a moan as he remembered fisting the boy. Good God he had to be black and blue inside...
His eyes rolled back into this scull at the pressure; that painful, but oh so delicious pressure. It moved slowly in circular motions, his knuckles sliding over his prostate, forcing his entire body to tense and arch like a bowstring. So, much , too much, but not enough. "More, Dean more" he panted, fists clenching the sheets.
Dean opened his eyes to see the dark haired, probably teenage, boy flushed and pushing against his hard dick. Dean's hips hitched in reflex, but his mind was busy oppressing the half of the face he could see; a pretty button nose, dark lashes and a beauty spot on his cheek. Ben? It could not be Lisa's boy. It couldn't be. He should be off to college.
Dean lay on his back, groaning in pleasure as the dark haired youth set a comfortable rhythm. It takes practice to get it right, but the boy was doing rather well as Deans hands were steady on his ships, guiding him.
"Oh my god..." Dean says to himself. He pushed off of the boy that used to be his stepson and sits on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands. He feels the panic rise and his chest tighten.
"Harder, harder- please..." Ben mewled, his legs folded up to his chest and wrapped around Dean's neck. And Dean delivers.
"This can't be happening," he said and stood up. But the stiffness in his own muscles told him it had indeed.
"D-Dean, mo- , ahmahghaad-" Bed stuttered as the assault on his insides continued relentlessly.
Ben looked at Dean, confused. He knew that Dean had been drunk, but that drunk? "What?" he asks softly. He looks at the long scratches on Dean's back.
"Oh that's so good baby," Dean praised, "Take it like that-"
Dean flinches as he hears the familiar, but at the same time, unfamiliar voice. "Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck- Lisa is going to murder me...-" he turns to Ben, "What are you doing here?" he yells.
Ben jumps at the sudden aggression, "I..I..." he trailed off.
"In England," Dean specified as he wrapped a towel around his waist.
"C-college," Ben stuttered, feeling the tears starting to burn.
"And you mom let you move to the other side of the planet?"
"I got a scholarship," he whispered.
Dean paused as he saw Ben was about to cry. "Oh my - fuck Ben I'm sorry -" he muttered and ran a hand through his hair, "I hurt you, didn't I? Fuck," he swore.
"Ah-ah, ah, ah, aaah-" Ben cried out softly at every time he twisted his hand inside him. He'd pressed in to the middle of his forearm and was busy feeling about to pay much attention to that Ben was shaking and sweating under the constant force on this sweet spot.
Dean looked down at his arm; that was no small arm. "Fuck," he swore again, "Are you okay?" he asked worried sick.
Ben tried to sit up, but his entrance was screaming at him and his stomach hurt. He winched, "I'm fine," he said, just as quiet as before. He didn't trust his voice not to break. Was he that bad? Or did he just not like him? He'd left him before, so...
"No you're not-" Dean rushed to his side and laid a hand on his stomach, "Your mom is gonna kill me..." he said again.
"We don't have to tell," Ben said, biting his swollen lower lip.
Dean truly took in the sight of the boy in front of him. His skin was flushed and dewy, his lips were red, swollen and bruised, he had finger shaped marks all over him, and his shoulders were littered with bite marks. "I'm so sorry," Dean whispered. Inside, he was freaking out. He was freaking out real bad. He wanted to run far, far away. But this was Ben. His Ben. Fuck. What had he done?
Ben wrapped his arms around Dean's neck and buried his face against his chest.
Ben wrapped his arms around his neck as he rode him slowly, panting sweetly, puffing small breaths of air against Dean's broad shoulders.
Dean shuddered. God, Ben could not have wanted this. He was crying for god's sake!
"Please don't leave again," Ben pleaded, "I'll be better, please just don't leave..."
Dean felt ice spread in his gut. "Ben... no...no no no no..." he chanted and held the boy close to his chest. He tried to quell his own panic as he tried to soothe the boy. Be better? Better at what? He got his answer quickly as he felt Ben's wet cheek against his neck, and even wetter kisses "No Ben, don't-" but he is paralysed as Ben kisses him and crawls into his lap.
The soft slide of skin against skin, hands running down his back and the gentle rocking made Ben purr. Tiredly, he nuzzled into the older man's neck, moving languidly.
Ben moved quickly, despite his aching body. He pushes the towel up and out of the way and sank down on the stiff shaft. "Ah-" he whimpered, gritting his teeth at the sudden invasion. He was slick and open from earlier, but also swollen and very tender.
Dean's eyes rolled back in his scull as his dick was squeezed bloodless in the hottest and tightest anything he had ever felt. But shit- it was Ben. "Ben," he gasped. He clenched his eyes shut as Ben arched his back, seemingly bearing down, tightening his core and his channel muscles all at the same time to turn Dean into a pile of goo.
"That's it," Dean growled, "Fuck yourself on me."
"Dean," Ben whispered, "I need you-"
"This - this is so wrong," Dean muttered, a hand over his face as Ben alternated between soft and silky, or tight and slightly ridged. "You don't have to do this Benji." He'd rather he wasn't doing it at all... ever.
Dean looked around and realised he wasn't in a motel; he was in a college dorm. Fuck... God, he couldn't be legal even... He couldn't think when Ben was doing this to him.
"Yes I do," Ben said. Dean was perfect; the perfect father, the perfect lover the perfect man. He would not do this for anyone else.
Dean couldn't believe what was happening. The little boy he'd been a father to for a short while, the boy he'd loved as his own... He was afraid that if he even moved he would hurt him. A tear of frustration slipped down Dean's cheek. What would Lisa think of him? He bit his lip and cautiously let his hands rest on Ben's soft hips as he moved. "Ben..." He tightened his grip on the already bruised hips, forcing Ben to still.
Ben mewed softly as Dean's hands forced him further down on his cock. "Don't leave me," he whimpered, "Don't leave me alone."
And Dean shattered into a thousand pieces.
When Dean left the college campus later that day, he felt disgusted by himself. By the lust and by his own... lack of self control. But also needing that self control to start with.
He'd tucked Ben into bed like he always had, wrapping the duvet around him just the way he liked and given his a hot water bottle for his tender stomach. He'd kissed his forehead and told him that angels were watching over him. All the while thinking he was going to hell. Again.
His hands were shaking as he pressed the exit button on the door to release the locks on the campus gates. If he ever saw Lisa again, he wasn't sure he could live with himself.
A/N; so what do you think?