"She's gone." Sam slammed a stack of unopened mail down on the front seat of the Impala. This search was getting him nowhere fast. The girlfriend had never showed up for her shift at Starbuck's so they'd gone to her apartment; now they had another missing person to add to the list.
"All of her things were still there, except her purse." Carol was in full investigative mode, looking for any small clue. "People who are running usually take a few things, photos, clothes, suitcase." She understood Sam's frustration; as time passed, it was more and more likely bad things were happening to Dean. With three dead bodies and all the missing people, whoever they were up against had covered their tracks well. Every frustrated move made Sam's love for his brother more obvious; he was really worried.
"So they took her too? She had to have known something." Sam had searched her laptop at the apartment, but there wasn't even a password, and her email account came up with a double click on the icon. There had been nothing interesting at all, just spam from catalogue companies and emails from her sister in Arizona, no clue to why she'd disappeared. "Damn it, it's another dead end."
Carol felt her phone vibrate and checked the display; a playlist of song titles appeared. Scrolling down, she saw "Perfect Strangers" by Deep Purple and quickly read through the rest. "It's Clint. He's here and he's with Dean. They'll contact us in the morning."
"Where are they?" Sam immediately started the car's engine; Carol laid a calming hand on his arm.
"The message is coded," she said. "He must be undercover; that's what he was doing, trying to infiltrate the weres. This means he succeeded. Look at it this way; now we'll have insider information."
Head dropping forward, Sam let out the breath he'd been holding. "Yeah, Dean will manage and if he's with Clint, hell, I feel sorry for the fuckers who grabbed him." His smile was lopsided and full of relief, and, damn if it wasn't one of the sweetest things Carol had seen in a long time. And sexy to boot. Honestly, since the accident that had changed her, dating had been much more complicated; finding a man who could handle her crazy life was next to impossible. From what she'd read of the Winchesters in the file, Sam just might fit the bill, though. And, looking at him, she was starting to think she really wanted to see if he fit. She could feel the flush creeping up her cheeks, and she tried to hold it back. Ms. Marvel didn't blush like a schoolgirl, damn it.
"Look, why don't we call it a night? Get some rest; hit it fresh in the morning. We can see what info Clint can give us." She studiously avoided words like 'bed' in her suggestion and hoped Sam didn't notice her interest as he turned his head to look at her, his hair falling down across his eyes. Unconsciously, he brushed it back behind his ear with one hand, and Carol watched the way his fingers slid through the brown length, the image of her hand doing the same popping into her head.
"Yeah, that's a plan. Where do you want me to take you?" He sat back and shifted into reverse to leave the parking lot, turning to look behind him, hair brushing along the collar of his plaid shirt. For a second Carol couldn't even remember where her hotel was, she was so intent on watching Sam's jaw, but then she jerked herself back to the real world.
"Not too far from here. We're using Tony's usual suite in the Hays-Adams downtown. If it's out of your way, I can catch a taxi."
"We hadn't found a place yet. Was going to check in after we cased the scene. After I drop you off, I'll find something." He moved into traffic, heading for the bridge back across the Potomac.
"Hey, there's no need for that. There's an extra bedroom in the suite." Carol offered even as she questioned her own sanity for suggesting such a thing. "It's got two beds and separate bathroom. Plus, the fridge is stocked on Tony's dime. Might be easier to share info that way."
Sam glanced over at her, an unreadable expression on his face, and she realized there were layers to the man, much more than she may have originally thought. "You sure? I don't want to impose."
"Yeah, no problem. I'm a pretty sound sleeper. You won't bother me." And wasn't that a lie, she thought, knowing she'd spend the night thinking about him just down the hall. "Besides, SHIELD would reimburse you for a room anyway, so I'm saving them money. And their per diem for a hotel sucks. You'd end up at some crapfest by-the-hour joint with paper thin walls."
Sam grinned at that and moved the car through the D. C. traffic with ease. "I certainly won't complain about a decent mattress for once."
….
It took longer than Clint expected to plow through the rest of the so-called festivities and get back to Dean; the whole time, he imagined just how pissed off Dean was going to be. After all, Clint knew there was no love lost for a hunter among this group; even the non-werewolves were champing at the bit to get a swing at the big bad monster killer. But undercover work couldn't be rushed; he had to play the role of the anxious supplicant, embracing the part of the ex-military adrenaline junkie with delusions of grandeur. His alter ego, Ted Robinson, wouldn't care one wit about the man he'd just humiliated and abused, so Clint couldn't just cut and run.
As he opened the door to the small room they'd given him, he caught sight of Dean, handcuffed to the tiny twin bed with its lumpy mattress, feet tied to the footboard. They'd left him naked, and Clint could tell from the red marks and fingernail trails on Dean's chest and side that the men had taken out some of their anger on him. Without a word, Clint closed the door and walked to the small music player on the table, fiddling with the controls for a moment before he popped it into a small speaker and "All Right Now" started playing.
"Camera's in the left hand corner above the door," he offered, opening a drawer and taking out some first aid supplies before he crossed the small space and sat down on the edge of the bed by Dean's knees, giving whoever might be watching a view of his back. "Seems they've been having problems with the audio for a few weeks now – conveniently a whole week before I got here – and now the video is on the fritz. It will probably take them a little while longer to realize the feed is overwriting itself every 24 hours or so. Quite a lemon of a system they have here." He opened the antiseptic ointment and squeezed a bit onto his hand; with gentle strokes he covered the bite mark on Dean's hip generously with the sticky gel.
"Lip reading?" Dean squirmed, and Clint could tell he was a little embarrassed by the state he was in; wounded, bruised, handcuffed, tied, but still rock hard, probably aching. Trying not to look – and it was really difficult because, damn, Dean Winchester was worth a second look clothed, but naked and fully erect? Only a saint wouldn't start to feel his own cock stir with appreciation, and Clint sure as hell wasn't saint material – Clint rummaged in the kit for some gauze.
"The video is grainy with distortion lines. Lip reading is impossible." Don't think about lips, Clint told himself, and, of course he looked right at Dean's, red indentions marking the lower lip from when Dean had bitten down on it. Not helping. No, that wasn't helping at all. "Latest in Stark Technology. Even the military doesn't have it yet. Also includes the ability to send coded messages through song titles. Tony gets us the best toys. I assume Carol found you guys? I let her know you were okay and that we'd meet up when I can get us out of here safely."
"Carol. Yeah. Met her earlier today. Didn't have much time before they grabbed me, but Sam will be with her, so he'll know. That's good." Dean discomfort eased a little, and Clint knew it was because he had quit worrying about his brother looking for him.
After bandaging the hip wound, Clint moved to the one on Dean's shoulder, stopping to smear ointment on the scratches, just in case. He thought it would be easier, but now his hip was against Dean's hip, pushing back towards the wall to get enough room to sit as he leaned forward, bringing his face down to a better angle to get a good look. Dean's cock jerked as he moved, and Clint studiously kept his eyes focused on the red circle that was caked with Dean's blood.
"Not looking isn't going to help, you know," Dean said. "What do they say on the commercials? Call your doctor if your erection lasts more than four hours? I think I'm approaching that magic moment here."
"Stop it. I'm being good here. Playing the nice guy, all nurturing and caring. Breaking a person's spirit 101. Mean bastard then comforting friend." Clint tossed the medical wipe he'd been using to clean the site and began covering it with ointment.
"Yeah, I know all about breaking people." Dean's face was serious and Clint knew better than to ask; it was a sore subject, the fact that Clint had read Dean's file without Dean knowing. He'd explained that the information was sketchy, not complete, but they'd reached a détente by simply not talking about it. Clint put the sterile gauze on and taped it down before Dean spoke again.
"So, you a werewolf now?" Hard green eyes met Clint's; that was the hunter's look, the one he'd seen Dean give vampires just before he separated their head from their bodies.
"Nope." The truth was easy. And it was the truth. "They make you prove yourself, jump through a bunch of hoops, before you get 'the bite' as they call it. Only the best of the best become pack. The rest are just flunkies and underlings. Although, after tonight's performance, I rising in the ranks pretty fast. Too fast for some."
Dean searched his eyes for a moment more, then visibly relaxed. "Never seen weres this organized. Paramilitary, like some cult or something. I don't mind admitting it's damn scary to think of them with a leader smart enough to pull this off."
Clint looked at the purpling marks on Dean's body: down his arm, under his knees, clear hand prints on his shoulders, chests, and hips. With a sigh, Clint traded the medicine for the round canister of Hyland's; he knew this was a bad idea, but the arnica would help Dean heal faster. It just wouldn't help the state of Clint's own body as his cock pushed against the zipper of the jeans he'd been allowed to slip on after the fight. He started to work on Dean's arm first.
"That's what I'm trying to find out – who's behind it. This is all tied together somehow, back to the vamps and Hecate, and now Hera's bowl and these guys." He tried to ignore the way Dean felt under his touch, the slight flush to his skin, the way he sucked in a quiet breath as Clint's hands spread the warming gel over; when his fingers fit perfectly into the five small bruises from where he'd held Dean down as he'd fucked him, Clint gritted his teeth and hissed slightly at the arousal that jolted through him. He was kinky, he knew that; he might have taken it all too far, but anything approaching the words 'I'm sorry' rarely came out of his mouth. "Look. Dean. You okay?"
Dean's mouth lifted on one side; the damn man was amused at Clint's attempt to broach the subject. And that levity broke through Clint's own discomfort; he rolled his eyes at Dean and moved to work on another spot, this one on Dean's side just under his arm.
"What to know what I think?" Dean was goading him now, and Clint was back on very familiar … and welcome … ground. "You, you son-of-a-bitch, pulled your punches that time that I took you down; you wanted it rough."
A quick flash of heat rolled into his groin and stayed there at the memory of the warm metal of the Impala's hood and Dean behind, thrusting into him with a hard fast strokes. His hand went from rubbing to stroking, slipping down to the bruise on Dean's hip, Clint's own mark from holding Dean still. "What can I say? The outcome was worth it, don't you think?"
Groaning quietly, Dean rolled his hips towards Clint's hand. "God damn it Clint, I'm dying here. Hands, mouth, I don't care, just do something."
With a laugh, Clint moved his hand to Dean's mouth, dragging his thumb across Dean's lips, the soft skin marred by bite marks. "I hurt you." For some reason, it was important to Clint, hearing Dean's answer.
"I thought it wouldn't go over well if I said 'fuck me harder, Clint' right in the middle of things." Opening his mouth, Dean sucked Clint's thumb in, swirling his tongue around the hard callous.
"Damn." The admission was so hot that Clint lost his train of thought for a few seconds. Hand slipped around to catch the back of Dean's head as Clint bent down.
"And your fetish, it seems, is handcuffs and an audience." That whisper from Dean undid any resolve he had. No one watching the grainy video would be able to see more than bodies moving together anyway. Then Dean took the initiative and kissed Clint first.
"I'm supposed to be the alpha here," Clint muttered as Dean gave him a second to breathe before he tangled his tongue into Clint's mouth. He'd admit he'd dreamed about Dean and the way he tasted, how he took control with a simple curl of the tongue and the lightest of pressure on the corner of Clint's lips. Changing the dynamic, Clint turned Dean's head so he could trail his mouth along Dean's jaw, blowing lightly into the ear when he got there.
"God, not going to take much for me." Dean moaned. "A good stiff breeze would do it."
"Shall we test that?" Clint asked. He grinned wickedly at the bound man, feeling entirely like the alpha male he was playing. "Think I can make you come without touching your cock?" Skimming down Dean's neck, he sucked in one of Dean's nipples as his lips closed over it, making Dean arch up off the bed. Twisting the other nipple between his finger and thumb, Clint pulled hard with his mouth and was rewarded with a curse and hips jacking upwards. He kept it up, switching sides, until Dean's breath was fast and quick, his body rolling as he rattled the handcuffs against the metal frame.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck …"was all Dean could seem to say and Clint enjoyed every second of Dean's torment.
"So, Dean," Clint drawled, letting his hands run up Dean's arms to where his wrists were constrained and back down again. "Eaten any good pie lately?"
Dean's eyes darkened, his lips parted, and he growled, low in his throat. "Don't start that."
"Alpha, remember?" Clint's smile was predatory; he knew exactly what he was doing. "I had the most amazing fried apple pie thing when I was in the Smokey Mountains. Apples with cinnamon and some spice mixture, inside a flaky crust, deep fried, coated in powdered sugar." Dean closed his eyes. "When you bite into one, still hot, the juice rolls down your chin, but you don't give a damn because it's that fucking good. You want to take the whole thing in your mouth and lick every bit of it off your fingers, one by one."
"Shit," Dean tried to free his hands, straining to grab Clint. "Stop that."
Clint laughed, low and sexy, as he ducked his head and blew across the leaking slit of Dean's engorged cock. "Oh, come on, Dean. I know what you like." Another breath made Dean let out a long moan. "You're so desperate for my mouth right now, you can't think of anything but my tongue running around that velvety head, sucking you in until you're all the way down my throat, all hot and wet …"
Muscles clenched, Dean caught his breath and then he was coming, splashing pearly white liquid on his stomach. Even as Dean's ragged groan continued, Clint's tongue started to lick Dean clean; the touch of Clint's tongue along the vein of Dean's cock brought another spurt, and Clint sucked him dry, taking the last thrusts.
"Holy hell." Tremors ran through Dean's body. "You are a real bastard, you know that?"
"I've heard that before. Feel better?" Clint stretched out beside Dean on the narrow bed and cradled Dean's chin with his fingers; the kiss was gentle, a graze of lips and dart of tongue. Dean's eyes opened as he tasted himself on Clint's tongue.
"What's that old saying? Been rode hard and put up wet. You, however, are either sporting a major boner or that's a gun in your pocket," Dean said as Clint's thumb rubbed against the end-of-the-day stubble on Dean's jaw. Then Dean bumped into Clint's cock, rubbing against the hard seam of his jeans, and Clint's vision went white at the edges with need.
"Damn." Almost unconsciously, he bent his knee and tilted towards Dean, rubbing his aching cock along Dean's hip. "To hell with it."
He stood up fast, fiddling with the music player, changing the song and settings. With efficient motions he slipped out of his jeans, leaving them in a puddle of denim on the floor. From the drawer in the bureau, he took out a key; it only took a moment to unlock Dean's wrists. The knot on his feet was pulled tight, but Clint managed to get the rope untied with a couple of tugs. Tossing a tube and a condom packet on the simple nightstand, he sat back down on the bed.
"The video's going to have a quick 10-15 minute meltdown then be back up and running. I can't risk any longer." He reached out for Dean, intending to cover his body with his own.
"That's enough." Somehow, Dean flipped them over in the narrow space; on top now, Dean began to work his way down Clint's chest, running his tongue over the muscles, teasing nipples until Clint exhaled Dean's name and then he moved on. As soon as Dean's knee bumped against Clint's cock, Clint ground himself on the hard thigh, pushing the coil in his gut tighter; he could feel Dean's cock against his stomach, nudging against him.
"How the hell can you be hard again?" Clint gasped out as Dean paused, mouth perilously close to its target.
"The magic of modern medicine. But I'm damn well going to pay for it later, I expect." The words sent puffs of breath down Clint's aching length, and he strained up to meet Dean's tongue.
"God, yes," Clint murmured as he felt the delicious pull of Dean's mouth, suddenly feverish to sink into that wet heat. "Take it all." He sighed, an outrush of air, as Dean's lips slid all the way down until his nose brushed Clint's skin. "Dean." Half-plea, half-supplication, Clint wanted. All of it. Dean's mouth, his tongue, the liquid glide up and down that tugged him higher and higher, closer to the cliff he was about to fall over.
When Dean sat up and reached across him, Clint's throat closed around the complaint that bubbled up. Instead, he watched as Dean liberally spread lube on his fingers and then lifted Clint's leg, hooking his knee over Dean's unwounded shoulder. "Alpha, my ass," Dean's eyes were dancing with humor mixed with a dark passion that sent a thrill right to the tip of Clint's cock. "Come to think of it, you've already had mine. How about I return the favor?"
Clint expected Dean to push in hard and fast, but instead he circled the tight muscle gently as he ran his tongue up Clint's cock, sucking lightly at the fluid already beading in the cleft. With an easy motion, he guided one finger in up to the knuckle, then back out, in again, a little further, repeating the action until he was all the way inside the tight passage. Keeping the easy glide going, he kissed his way up Clint's chest until he was face-to-face, bending Clint almost double.
"Sometimes," he told Clint, those green eyes so serious now, "the easiest way to break someone is to be kind to them. To give them what they want." The second finger joined the first, easy, slow movements that were driving Clint crazy. "By the time they realize what's happening, they're already willing to do anything for you."
Catching Dean's face with his hands, Clint gazed steadily at him. "I know. You never want to trust again." Kissing Dean was easy; conveying the shared knowledge of pain was different, but somehow they did it without words, just whispers of lips on lips, brushes of tongues, and the warmth of skin on skin. The rise was seemingly endless, higher, tighter, needier, more demanding, growing with the dance of their mouths to the rhythm of Dean's fingers, three now, spreading Clint open.
They were both breathless when the urgency finally kicked in, and Dean fumbled the foil packet open, rolling the condom down, shaky fingers stroking on sticky gel as Clint watched. Feeling Dean's cock pushing into him, forcing past the tightness, filling him until he was about to burst apart was too much. Clint's muscles clenched and Dean cursed; Clint lifted his hips and took Dean in even further.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck" Clint whispered the exact words Dean had chanted earlier. A smile played on his lips as he looked up at Dean. "Fuck me harder, Dean."
"Son of a bitch" Dean muttered beneath his breath as he pulled out and pushed back in. "You are going to fucking kill me." Then words were lost; Dean set a quick pace, Clint matching and meeting him, bodies moving together. Sitting up on his knees, Dean held Clint's legs to his chest, changing the angle of his entry, and Clint groaned, Dean's thrusts hitting the sweet spot that made Clint's cock jerk and tense. Dean responded, circling and coaxing the length from root to tip.
"Oh, god, oh, god, oh …" Clint thrust upwards, the coiled pressure exploding as came; pleasure crested and he spilled onto his stomach, blanking out everything but his orgasm rolling through him. Dean brought himself down on to his arms; Clint wrapped his legs around Dean's hips as Dean devoured Clint's mouth in a demanding kiss. They rode out Dean's last series of hard thrusts, and then he was coming inside Clint, sweating as his body climaxed for the last time.
"I am going to die." There was nowhere else to go on the bed, and Dean was so exhausted that he just flopped down onto Clint, mess and all, chest heaving. "Not that it wasn't fun or anything thing, but, damn, I am not 16 anymore."
"That was only four times in what? Five hours or so? Quit whining." Clint chuckled. He knew they should move, clean up before the video feed settled again, but he couldn't work up the effort to care at the moment.
"Shut up. You bit me. Twice. I get to bitch." He moved first and Clint had to follow suit; he grabbed a towel from the small wardrobe and tossed it to Dean, taking one for himself. "And you're going to like locking me up again. Kinky bastard." There was no heat behind Dean's words, just amused teasing.
"Lie on your side and face the wall. I can put the cuffs on but not lock them and loosen the ties on your feet. With a blanket, they won't know." Clint turned down the volume of the music and set the player for a morning alarm.
"Dude, we are not both going to sleep on that bed." Dean stretched back out, taking up the whole space.
"I am not sleeping on the floor. Alphas don't give up their bed. Betas share." Clint nudged him over, looping the unlocked cuffs to the headboard. "Besides, invade the space of the prisoner. It's part of the program."
"Yeah, I know you just like to be the big spoon. If you fall off the edge, don't blame me."
As Clint pulled up the blanket and draped his arm over Dean's waist, he put his cold feet against Dean's calves just to make him jump.
"So," Clint said into Dean's ear. "Tell me all the details of what you know about the murders."