Author's Notes:
I highly recommend you wear headphones to get a glimpse into how the beats inspire me in all of my stories. I got immersed while creating this chapter.
The Links Involved Within This Chapter:
Beat Inspiration -
https/youtu.be/p6FG6rz3a-A
The Restaurant Where Dean is Going -
1. https/lh5./p/AF1QipMk4pkQkCu6_AHZC1vm8Eib29bOyLfrUJqcaPqV=w518-h385-n-k-no
2.
https/lh3./p/AF1QipNc3P5Dh_XpS6yhc3hXoTrIP4hWCi31EQgSQqV7=s1420-w824-h1420
3. https/lh5./p/AF1QipOJrsrsOjnmBgzTqyxpZUR-W2t99Hz-7KXnVnvS=w189-h135-n-k-no-nu
Red, Glowing Eyes Superman Gif -
https/qph.cf2./main-qimg-f5f04260f3c1fb116b16c8b7319f5d5f
Six hours later... 6:20 p.m.
The sunset is beautiful driving down the highway, but the night hits different, and not always in good ways.
Dean feels like he's missing something every time he drives for long periods of time. It's probably the loneliness, or maybe it's some type of companionship he needs, but he's used to being the lone wolf, even though... wolves usually work better in packs. He briefly glances at the vacant passenger seat, emotionless, while tightening his hands on the wheel. The alcohol is definitely calling his name... and some steak, too. His stomach growls softly. Yeah, yeah, I'll get you some food.
He finally sees the Smallville sign welcoming him with open arms as he drives past it. The Meteor Capital of the World. Population: 45,001, now 45,002.He thinks. It takes a few minutes of finding a good place to stay, driving around to get his bearings, and luckily, he drove past a steak and seafood restaurant that's just around the corner. He parks next to the curb in front of The Smallville Hotel, a white and red, old-fashioned looking building; the lights on the outside of it, enhancing its aesthetic. He smiles as he pats Baby's steering wheel, "We're here, sweetness. Just you and me against the world, right?" No one answers back at him, causing his smile to slowly go down, becoming unexpressive. He quickly takes his seatbelt off, grabs his car keys, then with a little force, opens the door, getting out, but gently closes the door back, with a silent apology for putting his anger on her.
My only friend is my fucking car, how sad is that?Admitting that is painful, answering the question... requires him to get deeper into his emotions, and his emotions are about to burst if he's not too careful. He walks to the backseat door behind him, opens it to grab his duffle bag, and closes the door. He locks his car up, and puts his keys in his right front pocket, before he walks up the stairs to the front door.
When he opens the door, what's revealed to him is a rustic, cozy vibe that somehow matches the outside. He fully walks in to go to the receptionist desk, that's on the right side, and sees a sweet old white lady smiling softly at him. Her hair is in a grey little bun, wearing a blue floral dress, with an adorable engraved name tag that seems to have a bit of a personality on it. In a southern accent, she says, "Hi, there, dear. My name is Constance. Welcome to The Smallville Hotel. What can I do for you?"
His smile matches hers. "My name is Dean, ma'am. I'm here to pay for a room for... at least a week. I'm pretty sure I'm staying for a week, but if I'm staying longer, I'll pay for that time when it gets closer." She nods. "Of course, that's fine with me. That'll be $125." He grabs the money out of his wallet, from his back pocket, then puts his wallet in his left front pocket this time. The old woman bends down to grab his key, then stands back up, handing it over. "You're in room 20, upstairs on the left side, dear." He says a quick thank you, turning around to see the stairs on the left side, and with sedated steps, walks up them and to his room.
He unlocks the door, standing next to the door frame to take in his surroundings. Same rustic, cozy vibe; the bed, closer to the door, looks like it could be in a lumberjack's house with the red plaid covers and pillow cases; drawers strewn about up against the walls; two dark brown nightstands on both sides of the bed with lamps on them lit, a table that has a T.V. facing the foot of the bed, further up against the wall; the windows are all around the room, but the curtains cover them; and adjacent, appears to be the bathroom.
It's not much, but it's home... for about a week. Then, the nomadic life persists. He sighs, loudly, going in, closing the door with the back of his right boot. He turns around to lock the door, and turns back around to set his duffle bag on the front of his bed, putting his room key in one of his back pockets.
He lays down next to his duffle bag, sideways, knees hanging over the edge of the bed, staring up at the white ceiling, contemplating on why he's here. He's not necessarily suicidal, he's more on the partial side, but it's only a matter of time when it fully becomes that. He doesn't care if he dies, and if his death happens, it happens. The suicidal thoughts started happening a long time ago, but he won't act upon them. It probably says a lot about him, if he's too much of a coward to just pull the trigger. He closes his eyes, curling in his lips, melancholic. I have a purpose, I have a purpose, I have purpose. I'm a necessity. Bobby's voice from earlier, distorts his perspective. You keep telling yourself that, kid.
Before his thoughts spiral out of control, his phone rings, and he opens his now dead looking eyes, while grabbing the phone from his pocket to see Bobby calling him. His voice doesn't match his eyes, as he answers, "Hey, Bobby. I'm here in Smallville, it's very nice at night." He hears Bobby chuckle, "Well, you seem chipper. I'm glad you made it there safely. Now, all you need to do is not get into anymore trouble." Dean snorts, "Bobby, trouble always finds me. That's the life of a Hunter. You and I know that pretty well." Humming is heard, in agreement. "You got that right. Anyways, I was just checking up on you. I'll call you later on in the week." Dean tells him, "Alright, take care." Bobby says his good-bye, and Dean hangs up, putting his phone back into his pocket.
His stomach growls a little louder, his hunger forcing him to stand back up. Everyone has a mask, he just has to use his. This time, indifference should be on his face, he's only going to a restaurant, after all. There's no one to impress, anyways. He's not in the mood for that. He walks out of the door, locking it in the process with his room key, then sets it back in one of his back pockets, making his way out of the hotel. It doesn't take long to find the restaurant and to park in the front of it, turning off his car.
He gets out of his car, turning to lock it, before making his way over to the entrance. His left hand hovers over the handle, hesitating, and he doesn't know why. He's most likely feeling paranoid, but this... unknown feeling comes over him with some dread mixed in. He shakes his head, grimacing. Paranoia has saved my life, time and time, again, but there's such a thing as having too much paranoia, and I might have that.Is it warranted, though? Well, there's one way to find out. Open the door. So, he does, and... he sees that there's people sitting down in tables and booths talking, with waiters and waitresses in black uniforms getting their meals and drinks. The setting inside is intimate with the lights dimmed low, and the whole restaurant gives off this high quality feel.
He's definitely underdressed for this place, but he's hungry, and not going anywhere. He goes to the host, and she smiles at him. "Hello, sir, table for one?" He nods. "And, would you like a booth or table?" He's laconic with his words, "Booth." She nods, then takes a menu, and wrapped up utensils in her hand, and gestures to him to follow her. This is suppose to be a simple night, a night where he can have his pathetic pity party in peace, but his feelings from before got stronger as he walked behind her. As he came around the corner, he met... gorgeous blue, vivid eyes behind black glasses from afar. His steps quickly felt like lead, walking in slow motion, his breathing gets heavy, his heart races, as he has tunnel vision, seeing only him.
He's wearing a business casual outfit, hair slicked and coiffed - anyone can tell he's put together at all times, that strong jaw line looks like it can break steel, and his body... holy shit. It looks like it's going to burst out of his clothes because of those muscles. His dick twitches, arousal beginning to hit him, while getting closer... and closer to that man's booth. Blue Eyes' nose flares up, eyes somehow gleaming in the low light. Fuck me, sideways. His brain suddenly has a minor headache, but he ignores it, as their intense eye contact is broken by a young brown-haired woman sitting next to him, grabbing his, apparently, reluctant attention, along with an older looking woman, and man.
His eyes blink furiously for a moment, his arousal and breathing, going back down, while biting his lower lip, embarrassed, quickly walking past their table to sit... two booths behind them. He gives the waitress a small grin as she tells him that someone will come see him shortly. She puts his menu and utensils down on the table, and leaves, when Dean sits down on his seat facing the back of Blue Eyes' - Blue Eyes? Why the fuck did I immediately create a nickname for him? - He rolls his eyes at himself. The man is most likely in a relationship for all I know, and I'm just having a sexual fantasy, not even three feet away. God, I need to get laid... with a woman, though. I'm not gay, nope, nada. Anyone else can be gay, but me? No. I'm just... having a weird sexual moment. Reassuring himself is the only way to make sense of what took place back there.
He grasps the menu, turning it right side up, to check it out. His vision blurs a little bit, his head getting a little worse in the pain department. "It's only a hunger headache, me. Nothing a good steak wouldn't fix." After he said that, it thankfully, subsided. He looks further into the menu, and figured out what he wanted. A 10 oz. well-done steak with mashed potatoes and gravy, and to fill his quota of having vegetables for the day, green beans with bacon. He'll also have a few beers; he only needs a quick buzz, just enough to push down his sorrows.
Just as he made up his mind, his waiter came up to his table with a smile on his face. "Hi, my name is Tim. I'll be your waiter for tonight, what can I get you for a drink?" Dean smiles back, "Um, I'm actually ready to take my complete order." His waiter is a little surprised, "Oh! Okay, let me just... grab my notepad, and pen," he does so, then looks at him intently, ready to take it. Dean responds with, "I'll have a well-done 10 oz. steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans with bacon. Then, for my drinks, I'll have -" His phone interjects, vibrating in his pocket, signaling to him that he's got a notification. The older Winchester holds up his finger, mouthing "one moment", and takes his phone out, seeing that he got a text message from Sam. He knows that he shouldn't get his hopes up, but it's up a little bit, so he opens the message up, and all it says is: Okay.
Okay? Okay?! After I said all of that earlier, all you say is okay?! Of course you do, of course you fucking do. What the hell did I expect? I should have just had low expectations from the very beginning. You could have said I love you, too, jerk, and I would have been content with that, but no. His eyes begin to water, but he holds that rage and sadness in, while his smile becomes strained and a little on the fake side.
He slowly raises his head back up, "I was going to ask for three Heineken beer bottles, but I'll actually take your least expensive, but strongest wine you got. I want that hard stuff. I'll take refills on that stuff, too." Tim looks dubious, raising an eyebrow, asking him, "Do you have a ride home?" Dean replies, lying, "Yes, I do. I'm going to text them again when I leave." Tim writes it down, then grabs his menu, giving him a brief grin, then leaves Dean alone.
Dean harshly puts his phone in his right front pocket, grumbling to himself, bitterly laughing, as tears slowly roll down his cheeks, "You can't even call me, at least, once, Mr. Big Shot Stanford Lawyer. Some brother you are, huh, Sammy? After everything I've done for you. I sacrificed - " He puts his elbows on the table, raising his arms up, to clasps his hands together, setting his chin on top of them, and closes his eyes, shaking a little, his voice shaky, as well. "No, no, Dean, you can't think like that. He's your brother, he's family, you have to protect him, he's your responsibility, watch out for Sammy, boy - well, fuck that, fuck you, Sam. Fuck you, too, John. How can I watch out for Sam when he doesn't want me to, and who watches out for me at the end of the day? No one." He's tired of feeling like shit, he's tired of feeling like he's dispensable, he's tired of going through the motions on each and every hunt, he's just... done. He puts his very being into this family, and this is the thanks he gets? He's at his fucking breaking point!
Where the fuck is my wine?! His jaw clenches, while wiping his tears. Speak of the devil, and it shall appear, his waiter has his wine glass, and wine bottle, which looks chilled and large, and he's getting refills on this? Sign him up. He doesn't even care how it tastes, it's going to get him drunk, and that's the effect he wants on his body. A proper buzz isn't going to cut it anymore, not tonight. He doesn't want to deal with the bullshit emotions right now. He doesn't want to feel anything. He watches his waiter pour his wine, then sets the bottle down in front of him. Tim says, "Just let me know when the wine bottle gets empty, and I'll give you a new one." He nods, concurring. His eyes go to the wine glass with his alcoholic beverage, and the moment he raises that glass up to his mouth, it was all over for him.
An hour later, he's pretty fucked up, people and things are moving in slow motion as he becomes mostly unaware of his surroundings, his stomach's full after eating a great meal, but the most important thing is, he's numb. He finished up his first wine bottle, now he's close to finishing his second, and a third one is just what he needs. He's slumped over on the little wall next to him, not realizing that he's crying. In his peripheral, he notices - Oh, shit, Blue Eyes is back. He's standing at my table, staring at me for some reason. Leave me alone, you handsome bastard. Dean scowls at the man, rudely telling him, his words slurred, "Take a picture, it'll last longer."
Blue Eyes smirks, leaning forward a little, "Don't tempt me." Holy hell, he has a husky voice. It's like whiskey smoothly going down his throat. His dick responds accordingly, twitching, raising up a bit. Blue Eyes' nose flares up again, and his eyes become more intense, lust combined with it. His eyes, then, gravitate towards the two large wine bottles that he drunk from, looking troubled. "Maybe you should lay off on the wine bottles." Who the fuck is this man talking to? If I want to drink this wine, I fucking will! Dean gets irrationally irate, his slurring words getting worse, "Maybe you should mind your own damn business, Blue Eyes. I'm drowning my emotions over here. Can't you see that?" In his anger, he calls him the nickname that he just made, unknowingly.
The taller man gets closer, lifting up his eye brow, the sexual tension between them, electric. He's about to open his mouth, until his... wife, calls his name from outside the restaurant. He sighs, annoyed. He finally finds a compatible mate, out of everyone on this planet, and he has a wife, who he thought he loved, and was resigned to live with the fact that no one was compatible to him, including her - he really did, until he met Green Eyes, or... Dean. That name just rolls off the tongue nicely. Then, that love quickly changed into nothing, all while he was in the booth with his parents and Lois. It's strange, how instincts he didn't know existed take over, and he found the one that is biologically made for him in this one restaurant. He must be the luckiest alien alive.
He squints his eyes, perusing Dean's body. Earlier, he was surprised that Dean was able to block his telepathy, he presumes that the bond is incomplete to see into each others minds. He has a lot of work cut out for him, but that's okay, since he's never letting this one go. Who watches out for me at the end of the day? No one.His mate's words echo through his head. Luckily for Dean, he's got him now, to watch over him.
"I'll see you when you leave." Dean was about to contest to him leaving, but couldn't get a word out, as Blue Eyes practically sprints out of the restaurant. The older Winchester does a bit of half-laugh, incredulous. "Well, fuck you, too. We weren't even finished, and you just leave? How rude." He drinks the rest of his wine glass. "The least he could of done was give me a god damn blow job with those juicy fucking lips of his - not gay! I'm not gay, straight men can ask for blow jobs from other guys, if the right circumstances come about. Like, a shit ton of money being involved, yeah... yeah." His justification is awful, yet clearly, he's under the influence to not care.
Two hours past, and he's nearly unresponsive and almost unconcious after drinking half of his third bottle, his head lolling from one side to another, drooling up against the wall. His waiter, Tim, clears his throat loudly, causing Dean to startle awake, to look at him, saying in a perplexed way, "Huh?" Tim stares down at Dean, with pity in his eyes, a relaxed smile on his face. "Sir, it's 10:30, we're closing in 15 minutes, you're the only one here. Your bill is on the table." Dean struggles to lean forward to glimpse at his receipt, vision blurring throughout. He manages to see that it's 85 dollars. He slowly fishes his wallet out, then opens it up to give him a hundred dollars. Dean smirks, slurring, "Keep the rest of the change as your tip, my good man."
He haphazardly puts his wallet back in his left front pocket, before dragging himself out of the seat. The world immediately spins and he catches himself on the table that was next to his. Tim was about to help him, but Dean didn't want any help, he was fine on his own. He was... fine on his own. Me, myself, and I!Determined, he stands up, taking careful steps as he can, stumbling every so often to the entrance, and out the door to his precious Baby. He grabs his keys from his other pocket, swaying from side to side, failing miserably to unlock his door.
A soft whooshing noise is heard from behind Dean, unsuspecting of the dangerous, yet not dangerous being to him. "Being under the influence while driving is illegal." The statement cuts through the air, scaring Dean half to death. "Jesus fucking Christ!" He whirls around, which was a huge mistake as he was about fall over, yet the taller man, catches him in his arms, holding him by the waist as he beams down at him. Blue Eyes has some nice teeth. Can teeth be sexy? That god damn smile is doing things to him."Blue Eyes? The hell are you doing here?"
Blue Eyes chuckles, eyes twinkling, "I said I would see you when you leave, so here I am. And, just in time, too. You were about to make a very bad decision, and as a good citizen, I should take you back to your place. Either, we walk there, or I drive your car for you." Dean's taken aback, raises an eyebrow, poking the man's... rock hard chest, his voice slurring and mumbling at the same time, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, pal, I ain't walking away from my Baby, I usually drive her, no one else." Clark grins, "So, stubborn, too. I can see that there aren't going to be any dull moments with you, most likely a lot of hard ones, based on what I heard in the restaurant, but we're going to work those out together, mate."
Dean's expression shows confusion. "Mate? What the hell does that me -" Clark's right hand touches his left cheek, caressing it with his thumb, leaning forward to kiss his lips, quick astonishment sounding off from Dean's mouth, then his eyes slowly close, moaning. Clark's other arm, slightly tightens around the other, pulling him closer up against his body. Their kissing gets a little more aggressive as Dean messes up the other man's hair, moaning a little louder, soft growls being heard from the other individual.
Suddenly, a little bit of juice got into his mouth, and if he was sober as fuck, he would have instantly pulled back, ripping this guy a new one, wondering what the hell he just gave him, but the juice tastes so sweet! He has to have more. The kissing, on his part, takes on a more sucking approach, but Blue Eyes knows what he's about to do. He pulls back, a low smack sounding off from between their lips, causing Dean to whimper like a female wolf in heat.
He has to have more! Blue Eyes shakes his head, amused. "No, no, no. Let your body get used to my fluids, it's going to change you. This is just a taste on what is to come. By the way, my name isn't Blue Eyes, it's Clark, Clark Kent. I love that nickname, though." He leans forward to the right side of Dean's neck, latching on to it, kissing and sucking up and down it, as his mate groans lowly from the sensitivity of his neck, humping his leg on the growing erection.
In between the sucking and kissing, Clark asks him, "What's," suck, "your", kiss, "name?" Oh, fuck, Dean's body is getting warm, especially in his lower belly. This is sex on legs asking him a question, he's got to answer it! Concentrate. In a bit of a daze, he responds with, "Uh, my name is... Dean. Dean Winchester." With one hard suck, leaving a huge hickey, unlatches himself, and Dean blurts out, "I'm not gay."
Clark runs his fingers through Dean's hair, slow and methodically, with the hand that was touching his left cheek, a calculating glint in his eye. "Why does everything have to have a label? It's okay to feel attracted to other men, but it's going to be interesting getting to know you."
The warmth from Dean's lower belly bordered on painful, from a harmless warmth, causing him to groan in pain, and holds his abdomen, setting his head on Clark's chest. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" He asks, mostly to himself. "Hand me your keys, so I can take you back to where you're staying." Clark calmly demands, frowning.
He's the one that should be saying no, not giving his keys to a complete stranger, albeit a hot one. Fuck, he's going to have to put his trust in someone he barely knows. He, reluctantly, hands Clark his car keys, then the taller man moves him aside while still holding onto his waist to unlock the door, after that, he escorts him around to the other side, unlocking that door, opening it to gingerly put Dean in the passenger seat, then closes the door.
It takes a few seconds for Clark to get inside, and start the vehicle, asking him, "Where are you staying?" Dean is slumped over on his seat, clutching his stomach, in visible pain, scrunching his eyes, groaning out, "The Smallville Hotel." Clark nods, gently bringing Dean over, to kiss him again, releasing more of his juices, pure instinct taking over. He gets the gist of what's happening to Dean, his fluids have an addictive quality to them, causing Dean to want him and only him over time, and it's changing his insides for their future young. He'll have to do more research on that later.
Throughout the pain, Dean drinks in more, and more, the only thing stopping him from sucking the source dry is the source itself. Immediately, white hot pain from inside of him, makes him rear back up against the passenger door, screaming out loud. He scrambles to hold onto anything, trying in a vain attempt to run away from this inferno, back arching uncomfortably. His abdomen starts glowing a very bright blue under his black shirt, while his insides are twisting up. Fuck! Please make this pain end!!
Clark's expression is full of worry, but he knows his fluids are doing their job, so he briefly rubs Dean's belly as an apology, then he turns on the ignition, and rides out of the parking lot. "P-P-Please make it stop!!" Dean's not even sure who he's begging to at this point. He's becoming delirious from the pain, and it's somehow getting worse.
It feels like hours, but in reality, it took a few minutes to get back to the hotel, and just as Clark parked next to the curb, Dean's eyes open up, almost bulging, a blood-curdling scream comes out of his mouth, and he quickly passed out, roughly coming down onto his seat, nearly falling on the floor. Clark catches him, setting him right side up, noticing that his stomach's glow, immediately became lighter, not as noticeable. Just in time, too.
He takes the car keys out, turns his head to stare at Dean's face, which is still scrunched in pain, even in his sleep.He's so beautiful. Those luscious lips, those radiant green eyes, and what a lovely body, indeed. I hated it when I saw him cry, but that's going to change. I will do my very best to make you happy, Dean. We'll be one. Big. Happy. Family. His eyes glow red, a devilish smile slowly creeping in.
Author's Notes:
So, what are your thoughts?
And, I decided that Clark Kent, in this story, is going to be a mixture of Castiel and Homelander, who is a "hero", in the Amazon series, The Boys.