a timestamp for Turn My Dirt to Flowers, set before the epilogue.
disclaimer: i own nothing, only the words written here. title once again taken from birthday girl by matt nathanson.
Dean is not having a good day. Or a good week, for that matter.
His back hurts, his feet are achy and swollen, his bladder feels like it's the size of a pea, and he feels like a goddamn whale, and to top it all off, Seth has been gone for two weeks.
Two weeks.
It's not like it's the longest they've gone without seeing each other since Dean's been pregnant, but it's a two week absence right on the heels of their relationship finally progressing to something more and Dean is just - he's not fucking happy about it.
Seth's stuck working two weeks straight, and Dean just wants him here. He's lonely and fucking miserable, and the calls and texts are making it worse, having to hear Seth's voice without being able to reach out and touch him, without Seth sitting right beside him, and he hates it.
And Dean hates that he hates it, hates that he feels so goddamn needy all the fucking time, but he can't help it. He's never had anyone in his life who makes him feel the way Seth does, and he just wants Seth around all the time, to prove to himself that Seth does feel the same way, that it's not some fucked up dream his mind created to tease and torment him with, dangling all the things he never even dared to dream or hope for in his face before snatching it all away.
Dean's phone blares in the silence of the living room, startling him momentarily. He grins when he sees the name on the screen, settling back against the sofa before he accepts the call. "Hey, brother," he says, brows furrowing at the loud noise in the background.
"Hey, uce," Roman says, and he sounds tired, frustrated, and it immediately has Dean on edge.
"What's wrong?" he asks, because Roman sounding like that is never a good thing.
"Don't freak out," Roman says, "but uh - Seth got a little roughed up tonight."
Dean's stomach drops to his feet, mouth gone dry. "How bad is he?" he asks, nervous and terrified that something is really wrong, that's Seth's broken something, dislocated something, torn a muscle or busted his head.
"Dean, breathe," Roman says, over-exaggerating his breaths so that Dean can mimic them, and when Dean does, he continues, "Seth's got a mild concussion, but they want him to take a few days off, get some rest and shit."
Dean breathes a little easier knowing that. Concussions suck, yeah, and Seth with a concussion is a goddamn whiny brat, but he's grateful it's not something worse.
"How's he doing?" Dean asks, smooths a hand over his belly, a nervous tic he's developed recently.
"Listen," Roman says, and Dean can clearly make out Seth's voice in the background, that nasally whine he gets when he's not being paid enough attention, and he's yelling about wanting to go home, asking when they're going to let him leave, if he can just book his goddamn flight so he can get the fuck out of there, and it makes Dean laugh.
"You're gonna have your hands full with him, man," Roman says, chuckling softly. "Told him to wait til tomorrow morning to fly out, and he told me to get bent."
Dean cringes. "You know how he is," he says for lack of anything better to say.
"Seems to have gotten worse. Told me if I didn't let him go home to you, he was gonna remove my balls and feed them to me," Roman says, barely stifling his laughter, and he loses all control of it when Seth starts yelling in the background again.
"Put him on the phone," Dean says, feeling nothing but fondness and amusement at Seth's antics.
There are a few seconds of silence before Dean hears Roman handing the phone off to Seth, and he's taken aback at the rough, loud sound of Seth's voice when he barks out, "What?" over the line.
"Well, hey to you, too," Dean says, pressing back against the foot kicking at his stomach.
"Dean? Shit, baby, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell like that," Seth says in a rush, voice softer and calmer now.
Ah, mood swings. And Dean thought his were bad.
"I know you didn't," Dean says. He knows how it goes. He's no stranger to concussions and all the fun side effects. "You doin' okay?"
"Head hurts a little," Seth says, and he sounds like he's pouting, or like he's seconds away from crying, and it makes Dean's heart hurt. "Just wanna be home with you."
Dean swallows around the lump in his throat, ignoring the sting of tears in his eyes. Fucking hormones, can they just not for one day? "You'll be here soon enough," he says, because it's all he can offer Seth right now: words that he hopes are soothing.
"But I wanna be there now," Seth whines, and here comes the petulant whining again.
"Okay, hand the phone back to Ro," Dean says. Anymore of that in his ear and his head will start throbbing. "Go find out when they're gonna let you leave so you can book your flight and do what you gotta do."
Seth grumbles but acquiesces, but not before he offers a soft I miss you that has Dean smiling.
Dean stays on the line with Roman for a bit longer, waiting until he hears about Seth's release, his flight details, all the little things Seth still has to do before he can come home, only hanging up when he starts to yawn, feeling exhausted and worn out.
He trudges up the stairs to his bedroom, shedding his sweatpants before he makes his way to the bathroom to relieve his bladder, wash his hands, and brush his teeth. He's fighting to keep his eyes open by the time he turns off the light and climbs into bed, and he settles himself in the middle, pillows spread all around him, breathing slow and even as he lets the soft kicks from the baby lull him to sleep.
Dean's woken in the middle of the night by a hand on his back, the other softly moving through his hair.
Seth's home.
"Shhh," Seth says, slipping into bed beside him.
Dean shifts over to give Seth more space, but Seth pulls Dean right back against him, face tucked in against the nape of Dean's neck, an arm wrapped protectively around Dean's stomach, fingers splayed out over the bump.
Dean falls asleep again easily, feeling calm and settled now that Seth's home, in their bed, right where he belongs.
The next time Dean wakes, it's well into morning hours, sunlight streaming in through the windows, bladder aching in its need for relief. He groggily makes his way to the bathroom, still more asleep than awake while he takes care of business, rousing further when the smell of food hits his nose.
Seth's home, and Seth's making him breakfast.
Dean carefully makes his way down the stairs, bypassing the living room and going straight into the kitchen where Seth is standing in front of the stove, looking a little tired.
"You didn't have to cook," Dean says, sidling up next to Seth, trailing the tips of his fingers down the length of Seth's back. "You should be resting."
"I feel fine," Seth says with a shrug of his shoulders. "Head barely even hurts."
Dean nods. "Whatcha making?"
"It was supposed to be a surprise," Seth says, grinning when he turns to face Dean. He leans in and pecks Dean on the lips, and Dean hums, giving Seth a kiss of his own. "Go on, to the living room with yourself. I'll take it to you when I'm done."
Dean wants to protest, but he goes, anyway. He'd rather not be on his feet right now if he doesn't have to be, and if Seth wants him to do nothing but sit on the sofa and wait, he's happy to comply.
Seth emerges a few minutes later, carrying two plates and two bottles of juice. Dean feels like a goddamn baby when Seth hands him his plate, eyes misting with tears, because Seth's made them happy bowl sandwiches, something Dean had only ever made a few times back when they were traveling together, and for Seth to still remember makes his heart swell.
"Did I make it wrong?" Seth asks, and his lips are drawn down into a frown when Dean looks over at him through the blur of his tears.
Dean shakes his head, feels his lips wobble as he tries not to sob. Fucking hormones.
"Scared me, you asshole," Seth says, punches him lightly on the shoulder, and it makes Dean laugh, a soft, wet sound.
After they finish eating - and after Seth finishes cleaning the kitchen, because he wouldn't let Dean fucking touch anything, fucker - Dean curls up on the sofa with Seth, grumbling halfheartedly at the way Seth keeps moving this way and that, jostling him every time Dean finally finds a position that makes him feel comfortable.
"Can you just - " Dean blows out a frustrated breath, settles on his back and forces Seth onto his side, says, "There, fucking quit moving."
"Bossy," Seth says, drops a kiss to Dean's cheek.
Bossy, sure, but it's more that Dean feels like a fucking whale right now, and all Seth's moving and josling to find a comfortable position just further reminds him of his size, how the two of them can't lay comfortably the way they would have been able to before Dean got pregnant.
It's less than an ideal or comfortable position, but Dean doesn't mind too much when Seth's hand slips under the fabric of his t-shirt, wide, calloused palm smoothing up and around Dean's belly, and when Seth rucks it up with the tips of his fingers, his touch makes Dean forget about how large he feels, how undesirable he looks.
"You're fucking gorgeous," Seth says, and it makes Dean blush, makes him feel laid bare in a way he's never felt before, Seth's eyes roving up and down his body.
"I'm a fucking whale," Dean says, tries to pull his shirt back down, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and gross, the most unflattering part of his body bared to the air, skin striped with stretch marks.
"No," Seth says, shaking his head. He's moving again, but this time he's scooting down Dean's body, parting his legs and settling into the vee of them. The first touch of Seth's lips to his belly has Dean's breath catching in his throat, hand cupping the curve of Seth's cheek. "You're beautiful."
Dean swallows roughly, brushes his thumb against the scruff on Seth's face. Dean's not beautiful, has never considered himself beautiful. He's anger and frustration, self-loathing and self-destruction, covered in scars that tell the tales of the rough roads he's taken.
But here, beneath Seth's hands and lips and eyes, he feels almost beautiful, almost worthy of the look in Seth's eyes, the slow warmth of love and affection he sees there.
Seth's lips continue over every inch of Dean's belly, and Dean's drunk on it, drunk on the feel of Seth's lips, the heat they spark beneath his skin, and arousal is rapidly sweeping through his veins, quickening his breath and making him flush.
He's rapidly become familiar with this, this sudden onslaught of hormones that have him begging and pleading, panting and needing, but so far it's only been his own touch satisfying him, and now it feels like he's harder than he's ever been before, Seth's touch like the strike of a match.
Seth's eyes are pools of dark lava when he meets them with his own, and it makes him shiver, makes his pulse race.
For all the times he and Seth have fucked around, it's never been this, never been about more than hate and the physical aspect of it, but now there's so much to it, so many layers of meaning Dean almost can't breathe with it.
Seth's hands smooth down the insides of his thighs, pushing them open a little wider, and the swell of Dean's cock must look obscene like this, material of his sweatpants stretched tight over the aching hardness he knows is there, and it turns him on ridiculously.
"Touch me," Dean says, feels his face heat, wanton and needy in a way he's never openly shown Seth before.
Seth's hand cups the swell of his cock. Dean rocks into it, the pressure nowhere near how he likes it, but it's good, it's so fucking good, and Seth's hand is moving, massaging and squeezing, rubbing over the length of his cock, mouth leaving damp, hot trails of kisses along his belly, and it's too much, Dean unable to hold back, mouth falling open, eyes slamming shut, spurt after spurt of wet come soaking the insides of his sweats and boxers, Seth's voice repeating, "Yeah, baby, that's it," working Dean through the aftershocks that are making his body shake and shiver.
Dean's gasps are loud and heavy, sound almost deafening in the otherwise silent room, and he almost can't take the loving look in Seth's eyes, feels flayed open and spread bare for all the world to see.
"God, I love you," Seth says in a rush, almost like he can't hold the words back anymore, and it makes a different kind of heat run through Dean, a feeling he's never known before, and it's here, with Seth, with their baby nestled safely inside of him that Dean finally feels he's where he belongs.
"C'mere," Dean says, hauls Seth up by his shoulders, hand fisted in Seth's hair, bumping their noses together in his haste to get at Seth's lips, to feel them move and part beneath his own, tongue licking and curling into the heat of Seth's mouth.
Dean can feel Seth hard against his belly, the way Seth's hips are subtly rocking against him, and that burn of arousal is back, slithering through his veins, and he wants Seth, wants him so fucking badly he's dizzy with it. "Bedroom," he manages to get out between hungry kisses, and Seth pulls back, nodding, jumping up off the sofa and offering Dean his hand.
Dean takes Seth hand, uses it to pull himself up, wobbling precariously for a second before he regains his footing.
It takes longer than he has the patience for to make it up to their bedroom, taking each stair painfully slowly, distracted at every flex of Seth's ass in front of him.
The early afternoon sunlight is filtering in through the windows, and Seth stops in front of their bed, pulling Dean in against him, hands instantly under Dean's shirt, pushing it up and up until he can pull it over Dean's head, throwing it somewhere behind them.
Seth pulls his own shirt off so fast Dean's surprised none of the seams rip, but the second it's removed, that thought is gone from Dean's mind.
Yeah, Seth likes to walk around the house shirtless when he wakes up, when he's fresh out of the shower, and it's not like it's nothing Dean's ever seen before, but the sight still takes his breath away, every dip and curve of muscle in Seth's upper body, the smattering of hair over his chest and down his stomach, the cut of his hips trailing down into his shorts, pulling all Dean's attention to the obscene jut of Seth's cock there, hard and dampening the gray fabric where the tip is pushing out.
It makes Dean's mouth water, makes his pulse race, and he's shoving Seth back onto the bed before he can think about it, falling to his knees and pulling Seth's shorts down and out of the way.
"Yeah, that's it," Seth says, hand cupping the curve of Dean's jaw, and Dean grins up at him, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth before he licks a broad stripe over the head of Seth's cock, grinning at the punched out moan that slips from Seth's lips, savoring the sticky wet feel of precome on his tongue.
He's missed this, missed the heat and weight of Seth's cock on his tongue, stretching his lips wide, and he takes his time relearning every inch, every spot that makes Seth tremble, sigh, swallowing down every blurt of precome Seth gives him, until Seth is gripping his hair, pulling him away.
Yeah, Dean knows what Seth wants, wants it just as badly, and he shucks off his sweats and boxers, lets Seth pull him down onto the bed beside him.
"How do you wanna do this?" Seth asks. He's running the tips of his fingers over the inside of Dean's thighs, and it's making it hard for Dean to focus on anything but that.
"I - uh - fuck, Seth," Dean says, gritting his teeth at the fleeting touch of Seth's fingers against his balls.
"Trying to," Seth says, cheeky little fucker he is. "I'm thinking on our sides. No pressure on your knees or back."
Dean doesn't care if he has to do a goddamn headstand to get Seth's dick in him at this point. "Works for me," he says, crawls up the middle of the bed where he lays on his side, eyes closed while he listens to Seth rummage around for the lube.
Seth's lips skate down the knobs of his spine, the small of his back, and it makes Dean's entire body freeze when Seth's tongue flicks out against the cleft of his ass. "This okay?" he asks, and Dean tries to get his mind to work, tries to form a coherent sentence from the mush his brain has turned into.
They've never done this before. It's always been a quick but thorough prep, Seth's fingers slick with lube before they slid inside him, but he wants to feel this now, and he pushes out a raspy yes, gripping the sheets tight at the swipe of Seth's tongue over his asshole, the scratch of Seth's beard against his ass as he moves, tries to position himself in a way that gives Seth more room.
The way Seth's tongue feels should be illegal, and Dean would feel embarrassed about the sounds leaving his mouth, but he can't find it in himself to care, not with the way Seth's tongue is moving, swirling and curling and licking and pressing into him, saliva wetting his skin.
Dean groans at the loss of Seth's mouth on him, but then Seth's fingers are there, cool and slick as they press into him, one slowly giving way to two, the third finally joining in when Dean starts fucking back on Seth's fingers, begging for more, voice a broken, thready thing.
Seth's skin is so hot when he presses up against him, and he sounds completely fucking wrecked when he says, "Fucking missed this," his cockhead rubbing teasingly against the stretched out rim of Dean's ass.
Dean would say the same if he could get his mouth to form words, but all that comes out is a string of desperate moans, Seth's name mixed in there when Seth finally slides in, filling him completely with one smooth stroke in.
The grip Seth has on Dean's leg is tight, and it only gets tighter when Seth lifts his leg a little to change the angle, and it's better, so much fucking better, Seth's cock sliding right up against his prostate with every sharp snap of his hips, and Dean's reaching back, digging his nails into Seth's arm, sweat tricking down his skin, and Seth's panting in his ear, every warm breath sending shivers down his spine.
"C'mon," Seth says, voice a delicious rasp in Dean's ear, "jerk yourself off for me."
"Anything, anything." Dean reaches down, wraps a sweaty fist around his cock, slick trails of precome easing the slide of his hand.
He tries to time the stroke of his hand to the snap of Seth's hips, but Seth's not keeping any kind of rhythm Dean can follow, and that somehow makes it better, the unpredictability of Seth's movements, makes his toes curl at every surprising thrust.
Christ. Dean wants to say something, wants to tell Seth how good he is, how fucking amazing he feels, how much Dean loves this, loves him, but words are still failing him, leaving him unable to do anything but make ridiculous sounds that he hopes Seth understands.
"I wanna feel you come," Seth says, thrusts in hard and quick against his prostate. "Wanna feel your ass squeeze my cock."
Dean nods, says, "Yes, yes, please, I want - " words cut off with another moan at Seth's hand joining his own, quick, sure strokes over his cock.
Seth's teeth dig into the meat of his shoulder and Dean's coming so hard he can't breathe, eyes squeezed shut, shooting wet and messy over their joined hands.
"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about," Seth grits out, thrusting jerkily before he freezes, sweat damp forehead against Dean's neck, slick heat filling Dean.
Dean can hardly move as he comes down, chest heaving as his breath slows and steadies, tremor of an aftershock rushing through him when Seth pulls out. He rolls over onto his back, feels sated and pleased beyond words at the feel of Seth's come slowly trickling out.
Seth is a mess when Dean looks over at him. His hair is a frazzled mess, cheeks flushed, sweat dripping down every inch of his body, but he's fucking beautiful, and Dean can hardly believe Seth is his.
"I love you," Dean says, throat tight. It fucking scares him how much he loves Seth, how he wouldn't know what to do if Seth suddenly decided he didn't want this, didn't want their baby, but for as scared as he is, he wouldn't want to be anywhere but here with Seth, even if it doesn't work out in the end.
Seth curls up beside him, pushes the sweat damp curls out of Dean's face, capturing his lips in the softest, sweetest kiss. "I love you," he says when he pulls away, lips turned up in a soft smile.
The baby picks that moment to kick, and Seth must feel it because his smile widens, palm rubbing over that spot as the baby continues to kick.
"We love you, too," Seth says, focused on the swell of Dean's stomach.
Dean still can't believe that they're here, that somehow they ended up in this situation, but he wouldn't trade it for the world, would do it all over again if he had to, because Seth is it for him, this is it for him, his family right here in this bed, and maybe another addition down the road.
With Seth, it feels like the possibilities are endless.
"C'mere," Dean says, pulls Seth in tight against him. It's mid-afternoon, but Dean's sated and tired, and a nap with Seth sounds like heaven. "Let's sleep."
Seth rests his head on Dean's shoulder, a hand on Dean's belly. "Mmmm, let's," he says, body sagging against Dean's.
They do.