Chapter 8 - Okay, a dive back into the gutter at the end of this chapter and some schmoop. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank those of you bold enough to review. For the rest of you, I do accept anonymous reviews too! (And to you lurkers - Welcome to my gutter!!)
John woke to the smells of coffee and bacon. That was more than enough incentive to get out of bed this morning. He rolled out, noticing the other side, where Dean slept last night, was mussed and empty. He put a hand over it and the sheets still felt warm. Thank god.
After splashing some water on his face and running a toothbrush over teeth fuzzy with sleep, John headed for the kitchen. Deep snores still came from Bobby's room, but the other hunter had been on the road for a couple of days, he probably needed the extra rest. John found Dean sitting in one of those roller office chairs at the breakfast table, a broad grin on his face. Frank sat across from him in a straight-backed wooden chair. They each had a coffee mug and there was a small plate of bacon in the center of the table.
"Just bacon?" John asked conversationally as he headed for the coffee pot. Two empty mugs waited beside it. "Can I whip up some eggs to go with them?"
Dean cleared his throat. "Actually, Dad, we're going out for brunch."
John eyed his son. Dean's eyes were clearer this morning; hopefully most of the effects of the concussion had worn off. About damn time. He preferred a Dean who could filter his thoughts over concussed Dean any day, even if it meant hearing white lies that let him sleep at night.
"Really?" he asked. "Where are we going?"
A look passed between Dean and Frank. John watched and waited with the distinct feeling there was more to this than food.
"My parents always have Dean over for brunch when he comes into town," Frank said calmly, clear unwavering blues eyes meeting John's gaze. The kid kept going up a notch in John's estimation. "Of course, they'd love to meet Bobby and especially you, sir."
Brown-nosing the father. Yeah, the kid definitely wasn't stupid.
"A year, huh?" he asked, his eyes darting between the two young men. Frank did not react, but Dean looked nervous as he nodded. "Then I guess it's high time to meet."
"Great." Frank stood. "I'll go call them from the bedroom, so they know how many to expect." His gaze rested on Dean. "You sure you're up for this? How's the head?"
Dean waved him off. "I'm fine. Go call."
John took a seat next to Dean. "Nice chair."
Dean stared at his coffee mug, fingers tracing the handle. It looked different from the others. John reached out and turned it around. His name was imprinted on it in large bold letters.
"Don't say it," Dean whispered, head drooping.
John cleared his throat, his discomfort hanging about him like clingy wet clothes. "So. How long have you been wanting me to meet Frank?"
Dean sighed with a shrug. "A while. I just didn't want you mad at me." Without lifting his head, he waved a hand in the direction Frank went. "You know, since he's a guy."
"And judging by the large heart on your mug, the scented soaps and ruffled curtains in the bathroom, can I safely assume he's a gay guy?" John asked as pleasantly as he could.
Dean rolled his eyes. "If you think that's bad, you should see our bathroom."
John nearly asked about the 'our', but he really didn't want to know right now. Dean's head lifted and he met John's gaze. "I wasn't kidding when I told you he picked me up. I swear, Dad. I didn't go looking for this."
"And what is this, Dean?" he asked softly.
Dean sighed and shrugged again, leaning back in the cushioned chair with his coffee. John decided to try a safer topic. "What's with the chair?"
Dean ran his free hand over the arm. "Frankie bought it so I wouldn't have to sit in those damn things," he wrinkled his nose at the hard kitchen chairs, "if I don't feel up to it."
Even with all the revelations in the past twenty four hours, this was surprising. "You've come here hurt before?" John flashed back to when they first arrived, stepping over the salt line to come inside. "He knows, doesn't he?"
Dean winced. He broke John's number one rule: Do what we do and shut up about it. He considered giving Dean a thorough chewing out, but his son looked so weary and something he couldn't quite put a finger on. John didn't have the heart to do it. He just nodded as he drank the coffee, which was quite good. It had to be some fresh ground gourmet blend or something of the sort, but it was really good.
Frank returned. "All set. They'll be expecting us in about half an hour." He walked behind Dean, one hand trailed over Dean's shoulders as the other took Dean's empty mug. Frank filled it up and returned it to the table without being asked.
"I need to change," Frank announced, clearly uncomfortable with the silence in the kitchen.
"You make him nervous," Dean said, sipping his coffee.
"Good."
Frank's parents lived in a modest house on the other side of town, which was only a ten minute drive from Frank's. Bushes spanned the front of the house and ivy struggled to grow between the center windows. A few ambitious strands had tried growing up the far left side, their scorched and withered remains a testimony to their failed optimism.
"Oh," Frank said as Dean stepped out of the car, "I almost forgot." He dug something out of his pocket and tossed it to Dean. Dean caught it one-handed.
"Right," Dean said with a smirk as he slipped the item on his thumb.
Curious, John checked out the item in question. It was a silver thumb ring. He paid attention to Frank's hands now too, wondering if the young man wore anything similar. He did, but it was a plain silver band on the ring finger of his left hand. John stumbled with the realization, and it was Bobby who caught him.
"What's wrong with you?" Bobby hissed in his ear. John shook his head. Now was not the time or place to get into this.
Frank's parents greeted them at the front door. Both were large, hearty people. His mother was nearly as tall as John and she hovered over Dean, complaining about how thin he looked. His father was just as tall as Frank, wider but not as well defined. They both sported dark hair, blue eyes, and just too much friendliness for their own damn good. John felt like visiting royalty after he was introduced and ushered inside.
"Mister Winchester," Frank's mother gushed, "you have no idea how long we've been waiting to meet you! What a shame your work keeps you on the road all the time, what with all those wild animals."
John arched an eyebrow in Dean's direction as the woman wrapped her arms around his son. Too late, he realized what she intended to do and Dean hissed in pain as John grabbed one of her arms.
"Dean? What is it?" she asked in a motherly voice. "Honey, are you hurt?"
Frank was at Dean's side, John didn't even notice when he moved there. "It's his ribs, Mom," Frank said, steadying Dean on the other side. "They were trying to relocate a bear this time, when it went after Dean." He motioned at John. "Mister Winchester barely got it in time."
"Oh, dear," she said, one hand over her mouth. "Were you able to tranquilize it, or did you have to put it down?"
"I take care of anything that hurts my son," he replied sincerely. "John Winchester. Nice to meet you." John held out his hand now that Dean could stand on his own and was breathing okay.
"Oh." She turned those clear blue eyes on him. "Where are my manners? Anna Warren." Frank's mother shook his hand briefly to return her attention to Dean. "You come sit right down. We'll just eat in the den so you can use the couch, Dean. How about if I fix you a plate?"
Frank's father approached with an outstretched hand. "George Warren," he said, grasping John's hand in a firm grip. "Never mind Anna. She has a soft spot when it comes to Dean." He smiled broadly. "Probably because her car has never run better," he called out, pitching his voice toward the den.
"Oh, George!" Anna laughed as she made for the kitchen.
John had a pleasant meal with Frank and his parents. He still didn't know what to make of the situation, though. Dean fit in so well here, it was frightening. Then again, Dean had the rare ability of appearing to fit in anyplace he went. Here, though, Dean really looked comfortable in his own skin. John said his goodbyes to the parents before following Bobby out to the car.
"What do you think?" he whispered.
Bobby shrugged. "Could do a helluva lot worse." He motioned to the house. "Seems like good people."
"Yeah," John sighed, leaning against Frank's sedan. "I was thinking the same thing."
He let Dean ride up front this time, with Frank. The ten minute ride gave him time to think a few things through. Back at Frank's house, John pulled the keys to his truck out of his pocket as he grabbed Dean by the arm.
"Dean, I want to take a ride. Why don't you come show me the sights?" he suggested, pulling Dean toward the truck.
"Sir?" Dean's face fell as he realized what John probably wanted to talk about. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.
John shouted at Frank, "Hey, Dean's taking a drive with me. We'll be back in a bit!"
Frank waved, though he might have looked concerned. Bobby shot John a long, probing look which he refused to return. What he planned to talk to Dean about, John had no intention of discussing with Bobby. Ever.
He waited for Dean to climb into the passenger seat slowly and close the door before starting the engine. "So? Any sights in this town?"
Dean sighed as he rested against the door. "There are a few ponds," he said slowly. "One of 'em is supposed to have ducks."
"Which way to the park?" John asked. Dean gave directions in a firm but nonchallenging voice. John pulled into a shady lane, trees blocking the direct sun from the truck.
He sat still for a few moments, trying to work up his nerve and wondering why he was doing this in the first place.
"That's a nice ring," he finally said, deciding just to get to the heart of the matter. "Mind if I see it?"
Dean pulled it off slowly before handing it over, watching John curiously. John rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, studying it carefully.
"Some rings are just decoration and you wear them for show. Other rings have meaning." He handed it back over. "Rings that have meaning deserve to be worn only if you mean it." John twisted the wedding band on his left hand. "Don't wear it unless you mean it, Dean. It isn't fair to you," John turned to face the windshield so he wouldn't have to look at his son, "or to him."
He drove through the park, neither of them saying anything. When John pulled into Frank's driveway, Dean did not get out of the truck right away.
"Dad?" he asked slowly, lifting his head to really look at John. "If...uh...If I did want to wear a ring that had meaning, would you be okay with that?"
Eyes so open and honest, far beyond what John expected to see from his normally emotionally walled-off son, bore into him. Permission. Or maybe his blessing. That's what Dean was asking for. Shit. He didn't want this, not really. But this wasn't about him, it was about Dean. Would he prefer Dean continue living a double life, hiding each side from the other?
No.
Sam was the one who was hiding out these days, he didn't want it from Dean too. Anything but that. He couldn't stand losing them both.
His throat felt tight, the words didn't want to come out but John managed to choke them out. "Well, I'm not saying I'm thrilled with the idea, but yeah." John turned to look at Dean, really look at him. "I can be okay with that, if it's what you want. But it has to be what you want."
Dean nodded slowly. "Okay, Dad. I get it." He slipped the ring into his pocket. John gave him a questioning look. "I need to think it over. It's, you know, kind of serious."
John smiled as he grasped Dean's shoulder. "Good answer. C'mon. I wonder what embarrassing story Bobby's telling right now."
Dean groaned as he stepped out of the truck. "It better not be the naked Sam story. I am so sick of him telling everybody who'll listen that one."
"Oh, come on, son." John ran an arm over his son's shoulders. "There must be three or four bars that haven't heard it yet. At least."
Dean's shoulders shook with his chuckle as they approached the house.
Dean watched the black truck pull out of the drive. He waved as Dad and Bobby turned the corner, off on a hunt they wouldn't even talk about in front of him. Probably afraid he'd want to go.
Ha.
Alone at last!
A large hand rested on his bicep, a weight falling across his shoulders as Frankie put an arm around him. Frankie was on his right, so Dean was able to lean into him as they headed back to the house. Frankie closed the door behind them softly.
"I like them," he said as those big hands ran over his back.
Dean turned to face him. "I want to, uh, talk to you." One hand dug the ring out of his pocket, where he had kept it close at hand ever since the weird talk with Dad. "About this."
Frankie frowned and took a step back, shaking his head. "We've talked about this, Dean. You know I don't expect you to wear it, just in front of my parents."
"Wait, wait." Dean took a deep breath as he held it out. "Ask me."
Frankie looked really confused as he took the ring. "Ask you what?"
"If I want to wear it. You know, all the time." Dean swallowed hard, his mouth dry and his hands starting to shake.
"Really?" Those amazing eyes widened until Dean thought he could be lost forever in the blue.
"Ask me," he repeated in a hoarse voice.
Frankie stepped closer, until Dean could feel the tremble in the larger man's body, similar to his own. "I want you to be with just me," he said in a low voice. "Exclusive. Always."
Dean heard the raw need in Frankie's voice, saw the desire in his eyes. His mouth couldn't form the words and his throat was too dry to even squeak, so Dean nodded once. Frankie slipped the ring over his thumb, a strange place for this kind of ring, but it seemed to fit them. His huge hands cradled Dean's face and Frankie laid a long, lingering, searing kiss on him, only breaking away when they needed to breathe.
"I've been wanting to do that since you got here," he said.
Dean smiled. "There are other things I've been wanting to do."
Frankie frowned. "What about your ribs?"
Dean ran a hand under Frankie's shirt, felt the sculpted muscles there and a thrill ran through him as he thought 'mine.' "We'll be careful," he whispered as he leaned up for another kiss. "Besides, isn't it kind of traditional?"
Frankie's light laugh washed over him. "Nut," he said affectionately. "Okay, but I call the shots."
Dean grinned as he pulled Frankie toward the bedroom. Hell, over half the time it was Frankie calling the shots anyway, so no problem there. Big fingers might suck at working buttons, but they could be soft and gentle. Dean was naked and laid out on the bed in no time. He watched Frankie shed his clothes, the whole time thinking they would still be doing this a year, two years, ten years from now. God, just thinking about it sent blood rushing below his waist.
Frankie crawled over him, careful not to put any weight on his chest. Dean tried wrapping his legs around Frankie's waist, but it jostled his ribs.
"Easy, babe," Frankie whispered, stroking his face. "Relax. I got ya."
Dean stretched out, spreading his legs wide. Frankie slipped inside, moving slowly in and out of him. He wanted to participate more but Frankie wouldn't let him, chiding him for moving too much. His lover did all the work while Dean laid there, enjoying the attention. Frankie leaned slightly on Dean's right side, propped up using his right forearm. His other hand gripped Dean's left hip, pinning him to the mattress so Dean would be unable to use his injured side.
There would be bruises on his hip come morning and Frankie would feel so guilty, but Dean didn't care. He planned to ask for a matching set for the other hip before he left, which Frankie no doubt would laugh off.
Frankie took his time, a steady even rhythm punctuated with warm kisses down his neck. Dean ran his hands across Frankie's back, fingertips outlining the hard muscles and stroking gently down.
After a while, Frankie whispered, "Don't move."
Dean nodded, his breathing heavy. Frankie's hand stroked his hair, wound down the side of his face and trailed lightly down the center of his chest. The thrusts paused as Frankie lifted up more, making room for his hand between them. Dean gasped as the large warm hand wrapped around his cock.
"Don't move," Frankie repeated as he bowed his back, bringing his head closer to Dean's. Dean shook his head, the hand matching Frankie's nice even rhythm. Sweat trickled down the center of Frankie's chest, sporadic drops dripping on Dean's stomach, blending into his slick skin. Tongue invaded his mouth and Dean responded, nibbling on Frankie's tongue when he could, losing himself in feeling and sensations. He broke away, unable to breathe. Panting hard and heavy, he wanted to move, needed more. His fingertips dug into Frankie's shoulder and back, trying to find a way to get what he needed.
"Easy," Frankie panted, "almost there."
Frankie sped up then, thrusting quicker and harder, his hand gripped tighter and matched the thrusts. God, yes! Now he knew those moans were his, the ones he had been denying for nearly a year now. Fortunately the part of his brain which still knew he was hurt prevented him from wrapping both legs around Frankie or flipping the big guy over. Instead he panted and moaned, his hands grasping Frankie's ass, forcing the harder thrusts. Frankie's hand moved back out, pressing down on Dean's hip with crushing force. He lifted up, all his weight on his forearm and Dean's hip, to slam home harder and faster until the deep feeling welled up and out.
"That's it," Frankie's voice said from someplace far away. Now he felt the hand back on his cock, pumping hard. That plus the warm mouth on his neck, just below his ear, and the slow slip-side inside him had Dean coming again with a loud cry. Frankie's hips jerked, causing Dean's eyes to open. He was making the face which meant he was close. Dean grabbed his ass again, forcing him deep inside. Frankie fell forward, catching himself on the mattress with both hands before he could land on Dean. Dean yanked Frankie's hips again, propelling him deep within. Frankie gasped, pulsing inside Dean. When he was done, Frankie pulled out slowly to lay beside Dean.
"Good?" Frankie asked in a breathless voice.
"Jesus," Dean groaned, looking at him. "You really have to ask?"
Frankie shrugged. "I like to hear it."
"Amazing, earth-shattering, mind-blow-"
Frankie's mouth crashed into his, effectively silencing his rant. Frankie finally broke away with a huge grin. "You are a nut. You know that."
"I can't help it. You've ruined me for life," Dean replied. "Women just can't measure up anymore."
Frankie's grin broadened. "Now that's what I like to hear." He rubbed the silver ring on Dean's thumb. "That you're all mine."
Dean ran a hand through Frankie's dark curls. "Yeah," he whispered.
Frankie kissed him again, soft and tender this time. "I'm glad you decided to wear it," he said in Dean's ear. "Because I've been yours since we met."
Dean could see the truth of it in Frankie's eyes, those amazing eyes. Had he not noticed it before? Was he so cold? Or was it just that difficult to believe in something so good happening to him?
Frankie snuggled up on Dean's good side, his head resting on the unhurt shoulder. Dean allowed his eyes to slip shut, confident Frankie had the salt lines in place and the roommate wouldn't be back until this evening.
