Warning: Knotting and all it entails.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"I got a live one!" Dean crows.
Folding the previous Wednesday's edition of the Denton Record Chronicle, he waves it like a beacon and launches bodily from his kitchen seat to spring upon Benny's fundamental Latin for Hunters lesson. His alpha swivels round with a broad smile for Dean's gusto, while Bobby raises his brows.
"Dean Lafitte, is that from my store of newspaper subscriptions?" Bobby narrows his eyes.
"Ahem, yeah." Dean winces sheepishly, "I thought I'd get a head start, coz of y'know, how much time you're spending showing Alpha the ropes."
"And this head start includes putting dips on hunts you fancy?" Bobby's tone is full of amusement, as he rocks back in his chair, barely keeping the corners of his lips from twitching.
"Yeah, kinda?" Dean's tongue darts out to moisten his bottom lip, "Sorta thought Benny and I could take care of it."
"So now you're saying you're going stir crazy after a month under my roof?" Bobby teases.
"Ah Bobby," Benny drawls easily but with a light touch of admonishment, "I say we let Dean have his moment. What you catch, Darlin'?"
His alpha pushing back his chair, exposing his lap, is enough invitation. Dean plunks his butt sideways and spreads the short article over the Latin primer. His words come fast, spirits lightened at the prospect of this case.
"Old house, vacant, rumored to be haunted, teens challenge each other to sleepover…"
"Par for the course," Bobby huffs, "Why'd it get in the papers? Why d'ya think it's more than rumor?"
Dean taps the newsprint, grinning, "They've condemned it, pulling the place down, and now respectable folks are reporting strange noises, and guy from the clearance crew, who went to assess it, got a mighty crack in the head from a falling beam…"
Benny enquires, "Wouldn't demolishing the house get rid of the ghost?"
Dean and Bobby shake their heads simultaneously. The older hunter speaks first, "One of the nastiest vengeful no-good spirits I ever took out was linked to a new multi-story office block in Denver, built on the site of a convict's lynching."
"Could make it worse," Dean agrees, "Sounds like condemning the house might have angered it, or maybe it made the news because more people are taking note of an old building's spectral noises?"
"Any clues of who or what you're dealing with?" Bobby cranes his neck to read the article upside-down.
Dean nods, "Vietnam vet, Alpha Lomb, came home from the war. He died accidently while fixing up the house. His mate never recovered. Beta lady, no pups, she 'took to her bed' and was found dead when locals broke into the house weeks later. They say it's her ghost, still calling out for her alpha."
"Mais, another sad tale," Benny clicks tongue, "Are all hunts based on tragedy?"
Bobby shrugs, "Something's gotta turn 'em vengeful or get 'em to linger."
"But hey, Alpha, don't worry," Dean pipes up, "Lotta monsters aren't sad, just angry dangerous motherfuckers."
"You want to get there before they flatten the joint?" Bobby asks.
Dean nods. For Benny's benefit he adds, "She could freak out and start killing, or take up residence at some poor innocent neighbor's home, or at the graveyard, or anything."
"We gotta hustle there?" Benny wraps his hands round Dean's ribs, maneuvering him so they both stand up.
"Not this minute, Alpha," Dean leans into his mate's space. "The accident delayed demolition. We've got a few days, but we'll need some research time – talk to the injured guy, look up where Beta Lomb is planted…"
"Are we digging up a body?" Benny asks with a mix of wariness and eagerness.
"Uh-huh," Dean smirks, "We'll get our hands dirty on this one."
"You want me to come?" Bobby volunteers.
Dean knows Bobby's offer is honest. He considers how there are phones to be manned and no way this job requires three hunters. Benny stays shtum, leaving the decision up to Dean. His alpha's silence puffs out Dean's chest at the confidence Benny places in him.
"Naw, Bobby, we're good." He winds his fingers into Benny's. "And wait for it… Guess where we are going?"
"Texas." Bobby deadpans.
Dean chuffs a single laugh, "Bonham. Bonham, Texas."
Bobby shakes his head at Dean's enthusiastic sniggering.
"Dumping our John Bonham IDs for the duration," Dean continues to grin like a loon. "We're going on a Zep inspired hunt."
"Darlin', if this hunt keeps you smiling like this, we can detour via Paige, Texas and I'm pretty sure there is a Jones in Oklahoma."
Dean bumps against his alpha.
"Anywhere," Benny mutters. He cups Dean's jaw, gently caresses moist lips against Dean's chapped ones. Their tongues dance adagio, sweeping tenderly.
Bobby's cough reintroduces reality. "Before y'start your rock gods tour of America, y'might wanna take the mating action to the bedroom."
"Sorry, Bobby." Dean turns his head and bites down on his lip that had just been tugged by Alpha's teeth.
"No, you're not sorry, Idjits." Bobby snorts, plants his hands on the table and rises.
"Stay, Bobby," Benny raises his palm. "Dean and I are going to pack."
"And by pack, we mean have sex." Dean calls with a cheeky laugh, as he pulls his alpha up the staircase, away from Bobby's shout of protest.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
They depart for Bonham on a crisp clear day, big skies devoid of cloud, promise of spring in the air. Snow dwindles from emergency lane filled banking, to white mounds at verges until finally somewhere around Kansas City, Dean finds he is driving on completely snow free highways. They swap seats, nap while the other is at the wheel, halt for roadside diner meals, and stop to stretch their legs under a bright Milky Way.
Bonham is waking for a new day when the Impala purrs down Main Street. Dean uses his extra sensory food perception to zero in on a diner proclaiming to be famous for its breakfast specials. Over sensational Black Bean Migas with fresh tortillas and crispy bacon, Benny bonds with the owner via recipe talk. This allows Dean to engage the couple at their adjoining table in his own investigative conversation. Turns out Alpha Minchin, the unfortunate building inspector, remains in hospital over in McKinney.
Using newspaper reporter cover stories, they gain access to Alpha Minchin. There is always the chance Minchin won't speak to the press. However fake journalists make more sense than the feds being interested in a workplace accident, and claiming a similar profession to their victim is a no-no.
Minchin is receptive to being interviewed, but only by Benny. He gets labeled a douche by Dean the first time he ignores the omega's query on his health with a dismissive sneer. When he empathizes with Benny about clingy mates, Dean fancies finding another length of wood to hit the asshat on the other side of his head.
"Did you hear anything strange? Any change in temperature before the incident?" Dean tries to ask.
"Omega," Minchin says wearily, "Leave this to the professionals."
Benny is barely containing himself. Dean can sense his tension like crackles of electricity under his skin.
"So there was nothing out of the ordinary?" Benny asks with extreme patience.
"No, Sir. Beam was rotten. It was bad luck is all." Minchin dry laughs, "I have good employee cover, so guess can't complain. How about you? You get medical, covering your omega too? What paper did you say you were from?"
Dean nudges his mate. It is time to go. The article he based their hunt on left out the boring detail of the beam being rotten. They need to get back to Bonham and research the Hell out of the Lomb mates. In the hallway they almost bump against a nervy omega with circles under his eyes dark enough to match his thick black collar. Dean glances back over his shoulder to see him dart into Minchin's room.
"Pity the hit didn't end the son of a bitch." Dean mutters.
"Huh?" Benny queries as he holds the exit open for his mate.
"Minchin, the prime A-hole." Dean shakes his shoulders and blows a raspberry. "Don't think he was impressed that you let me out of the house, not to mind take me to work with you."
"Fuck him." Benny pronounces firmly.
With a chuckle, Dean takes the wheel for their short journey back to Bonham.
"You want to find a motel?" Benny asks casually.
"Dunno, Alpha," Dean sighs, "I got this itch under my skin. It didn't seem so urgent back in Bobby's, but…" He pauses to gather his thoughts, "once we got on the road, I didn't want to stop overnight, and now we are here, I have this, I don't know… this urge to get it all wrapped up pronto."
Benny hums pensively. "Demolition is slated for three days time, so we have a deadline. But if your gut instinct is saying we need to get this done, then let's get cracking."
Dean squeezes a grateful hand onto his alpha's denim clad thigh. He figures Benny must be wacked after their long road trip south, but they can sleep once Beta Lomb is salted and burned.
They split up briefly so that Benny can use his alpha charisma on the local cemetery groundskeeper, while Dean employs his omega charms on the homemaker betas and omegas of suburban tree lined Seven Oaks Road. He is plied with iced tea, green tea and sacrilegious decaf coffee, and a blessed warm slice of apple pie at modest homes surrounding the boarded up structure at Seven Oaks and E15th Street. Eerie noises, ice on broken glass panes in summer, a handprint that appeared unexplained on the wooden siding, all go to reaffirm the presence of the undead. Elderly omega Dottie, who baked the pie, provides intimate details in the hushed tone of illicitly delivered gossip. Beta Lomb didn't take to the bed and starve to death, she hung herself from an exposed beam. Dottie knows because her alpha-brother was amongst the neighbors who cut her decomposing body down. There is something ghoulish about Dottie's delivery of the tale. Dean makes his excuses, exiting onto the senior's lawn with a crawling sensation under his skin.
He races across the street when he sees Benny parking Baby round the side of the haunted house. Dean easily jimmies the back door. The EMF reader needle is swinging. As it emits a rising peal, Dean has the final proof he needs to sanction a midnight grave dig.
"What is that?" Benny's eyes are wide as saucers, focused in on the reader.
Dean gives a smug smirk. "That is my other Baby, my little electronic pup, made her myself." He strokes the side of the old walkman casing. "Picks up electromagnetic frequencies. EMF is a trace of supernatural activity."
"You made it?" Benny's eyes twinkle.
"Sure did." Dean nods proudly.
"Well I'll be damned." Benny huffs in admiration, before they both shiver at a spiking cold breeze. "Is it gonna snow in here?"
"Shit." Dean hisses. The EMF is going crazy.
Every piece of wood in the house groans around them.
"We gotta get out of here." Dean begins edging backwards, stowing the reader in favor of raising his salt loaded shotgun.
"I'm right with you." Benny confirms.
A piercing screech that intensifies in pitch makes them drop arms to cover their ears. It is combined with a dreadful reek of rotted meat, before a stake-like shard of wood flies out of nowhere towards them. Dean releases his ears to shoot towards their invisible assailant. Benny grunts and doubles over. All Dean's senses go on high alert. He can taste Benny's blood in the back of his throat. His alpha has been struck. His mate is injured. That is not acceptable.
In battle mode, he lets off round after round, ignoring the kickback as he pushes his body against his mate, guiding them blindly for the rear exit.
"Take that you miserable bitch." Any sympathy for the deranged widow vanishes. Dean is going to end her for good.
They are stumbling off the back porch. Dean is spinning on his heel looking for anything else he can shoot, any other danger to his mate.
"Dean… Sugar." Benny grips his bicep. "I'm good. I'll be OK."
"You're hurt." It comes out higher pitched and more vulnerable than Dean intends.
Benny pulls back his layers. There is a nasty injury to his left shoulder, but he wasn't impaled. At first glance Dean assesses that stitches won't be necessary. It could have been a lot worse, unimaginably worse. His voice wobbles as he suggests, "Why don't we get you cleaned up?"
Benny agrees with a kiss to Dean's brow and by tucking him under his good arm. They make a break for Baby before reports of gunfire can bring cops to their location.
Dean tends to his alpha in the restroom of a Gas'n'Sip outside the city limits.
"Your first war wound." He sighs as he tenderly tapes over a clean square of gauze.
Benny reaches to grasp Dean's fingers. "Does this make me a bone vide hunter then, Darlin'?"
Melancholy lodges in Dean's throat. He drops his eyes, "Do you want to be? I mean, is that what you want?"
A finger gently presses under Dean's chin, lifting his gaze to meet Benny's sincere one. "I want to be with you, wherever you are, and you, Mon Cher, are a hunter."
"That's not an answer." Dean mumbles.
"How about this? What is bad about saving people? We did good with Lil'Phoenix on Gauntlet. Now we're gonna keep danger from the doors of the good folks of Bonham. It's good work, worthy work."
"Being raised in the life…" Dean looks skyward. "I don't think I could ever leave it completely behind and goddamn if I could ignore a hunt in front of my eyes, but Alpha, you didn't ask for this… You could be injured… or…"
"Shush," Benny draws Dean near, "I won't deny that my dreams include more gumbo than ghost hunts, but that doesn't mean I don't want this. Don't fret, Darlin', this is my choice. Alpha here, remember, don't nobody tell me what to do."
"'cept me." Dean chirps cheekily.
"'cept you." Benny readily acknowledges with a guffaw.
Despite having an injured alpha to soothe, eating overly greasy fries with grizzled burgers, and experiencing unpleasant internal jitters in anticipation of breaking into Bonham Municipal Cemetery after dark, things don't go tits up until they are parked around the back of the boneyard.
"Dean, I am not standing like a streetlamp holding the flashlight while you do all the digging."
Benny's got his alpha voice on, feet planted shoulder width apart, with both his hands wrapped around a pickaxe. Dean is at the opposite side of Baby's trunk brandishing his shovel. He doesn't know why but he is at the end of his wick, patience running on empty. Why can't Benny understand that Dean is trying to protect him from further injury?
"I don't want you aggravating your wound."
"You take great care of me, Mon Cher, but I've swallowed those meds of dubious origin you gave me. I am, as you like to say, 'peachy'."
"I'm pretty sure they were Motrin," Dean grumbles, "You can be lookout. I'm digging."
"Not happening."
"Benny." Dean fumes. Impatience clouds his senses. Why can't his stubborn mate back down on this?
"The longer we stand here arguing, the more likely we are to catch someone's attention." Benny snatches the duffel containing their supplies.
"You think I don't know that?" Dean snaps. He vents his irritation by smashing his shovel into the side entry gate's pathetic chain lock. The resulting clang is loud but satisfying. Luckily not a soul, corporeal or incorporeal, seems to have been in hearing distance.
"Feeling better?" Benny asks.
Dean stalks into the graveyard. His brain computes that the question was not asked snidely, rather with a hint of concern. It slows him down, makes him turn round. Benny is right behind him, scent leaking his alpha's craving to shelter and protect. With a crooked smile, Dean grabs the lapels of Benny's coat, dragging him into a rapid fire potent kiss. It is not an apology, but it clears the air between them. Dean says nothing when they have to pause to deal with blood seeping from his alpha's left shoulder, instead he makes peace by commenting how much quicker grave desecration is with two on the job.
For safety, Dean recommends two for the price of one. There is always a slim chance that both corpses became restless spirits. They open up both sides of the double plot and give Alpha Lomb the same gasoline and salt treatment as his grief addled widow. Neither mate manifests in ghostly form. Benny begins to shovel dirt into the flames until Dean stops him.
"They need to burn." He explains as he gathers their stuff from the bare earth. In the distance there are voices. "And we need to run."
By the time they are flinging shotguns, tools and duffel into the trunk, both hunters are grinning. Post-hunt endorphins pump their mood higher. No motel room means they can hit the road before their criminal mischief is discovered. They laugh at nothing in particular, as Dean streaks the Impala out of Bonham, adding to their Texan misdemeanors with reckless speed violations. He blasts Whole Lotta Love at maximum volume. It is his ironic tribute to the hunt with a side of thigh slapping glee. A glance to his right shows his alpha is on board with his sentiment, mouthing along to the awesome chorus.
Quickened pulse, thumping heart, and thoughts flitting from hunt to alpha to the road ahead produce a cocktail of hormonal raciness in Dean. Well beyond Bonham, he wonders if this exaggerated euphoria is due to a special kind of relief that they got through the case in record time and relatively unscathed. The gauge keeps telling him he is bouncing over speed limits. He doesn't want to get pulled over by highway patrol.
"You good to drive a spell?" Dean asks.
"No problem, Sugar. You beat?"
"Opposite, Alpha." Dean huffs. "I think you should take the wheel. My after hunt high is freaking still up in the stratosphere, but soon as, it will probably flip into exhaustion."
"We could pull over at the next motel?" Benny suggests, worry drawing his brows tight.
Dean shakes his head. It wobbles his brain. "Too close. We will rest up, especially with your shoulder. Not yet though. We've crossed state lines but best to put in more distance."
Soon as he is behind the wheel, Benny teases that he gets to pick the music and cheekily changes The Zep for Boston. Maybe it is an effort to get the racing flames running through Dean's veins to die down. Perhaps Benny has also been bopping inside too much.
Somehow Dean drops into a restless slumber, slouched against the window. He has a vague impression of time passing and music changing. At some point Benny croons along to the radio, sending Dean into a semi-aware dream of them both hiking through Louisiana swamps, sweating in soaring mid-summer temperatures.
He wakes. Mouth parched. Temperature rising along his spine, one vertebra at a time, creeping through his nervous system.
"Crap." He groans. He moves his hips to straighten up. Inside his muscles seize and twitch. A gush of slick soaks his pants.
With a squeal of brakes and burning rubber Benny twists the Impala wheel to park her in the dirt.
"Dean!"
"Sorry, I…"
"You scent out of this world." A rumbling growl vibrates, "Cher… it… Oh Lord… Dean."
Dean opens his nasal passages inhaling deeply in an effort to sense what has changed. His pupils dilate. His exhalations are ragged and jumpy. Every molecule of air is imbued, drenched in musk. The sweet spicy heady scent is coming from Benny and with each breath it is getting more powerful. His alpha turns round, exposing his panting mouth, darkened rock pool pupils, flush rising on his skin. Dean's eyes flick to the white knuckled grip his mate maintains on the wheel.
Benny whispers intensely. "Your heat."
At the same moment Dean's hand trembles to reach his alpha's upper arm. He gasps in disbelief, "Are you having a sympathetic rut?"
Benny's verbal answer is lost as they collide, clacking teeth, smashed lips, fingers tearing at their clothes.
Dean had thought alpha ruts were mythical. A story told of ideal mates, matched so well that the alpha's biology will synch with their omega, ratcheting up their pheromones and hormones so they enter an intense passionate aroused fugue. Omegas with the ability to drive their alphas into such a special state are said to be soul mates.
Benny huffs into the shell of Dean's ear, "Y'coulda gave a dude the heads up."
"Didn't know, Alpha," Dean gulps, burying his face into Benny's uninjured shoulder, "It's been so long since my last heat."
"Oh, Mon Cher," Benny manages to hold him closer.
The rational element of Dean's melon screams loud enough for him realize that it isn't safe for either of them to continue on their journey. His instinctual side is driven by a base need to mate now, long and hard, not caring if they spend days knotted in his car.
They break apart. Dean cannot bear it. He attempts to climb onto Benny, to smother him in kisses, to envelop him in limbs and tongue and grinding aching need. He keens as he is firmly yet carefully pushed back to his own side of the bench seat. Benny's cock is swollen, hard, straining against his pants. It is all for Dean, who itches to spread his legs either side of his mate's lap and sink down to be filled, held, taken and…
"Up ahead," Benny cocks his head accompanied by a wince as if it pains him just as much to be separate entities.
Dean blinks. His eyes do not want to focus on the far distance. They want to rivet to his alpha. He forces his body to comply with his alpha's wish. There is a glow in the sky, a settlement or city within spitting distance.
"That's Joplin." Benny informs with a heaving sigh. "We need to get a room."
It takes everything for Dean to agree. His hind brain is screaming for Benny's knot. However he can see the disadvantages of being trapped for days on a public highway, maybe even taken into protective custody to finish their heat and rut in a local hospital. He can imagine his internal furnace driving him from the car to roll together, tangled in scrub grass, in the freezing night air.
"Pick a bigger motel," he grinds out the words, "more likely to have heat-proof rooms."
Benny's nod is vigorous. He presses the pedal to the metal. They reach a stretch of diners and motels that border the Southside of Joplin. Within moments, that seem like sweltering hours to Dean, they are pulling into a four storey with attached Biggersons.
His legs are jelly. He can't speak, only pant. If he doesn't get his alpha naked and mating soon, they are going to have plunk him into an ice bath to cool him off.
Dean is bundled into his alpha's strong arms. Arms that can carry him, hold him, pin him down. A high pitched whine sneaks out of his throat as Benny bursts through the swing doors of the Calypso Hotel.
Dean couldn't give a flying fuck if they are the only people in the lobby or if a coach tour is mingling around reception. He is secure, held tight, nuzzling blindly into his alpha's neck. Benny's beard tickles his nose. Dean doesn't care. He is transfixed by luscious musky pheromones leaking through his alpha's pores. He has no more than a peripheral awareness of the exchange taking place.
"Your heat room!" Benny demands.
There is an audible gulp. "Geez, yeah, I mean, we have a heat room."
"Is it vacant?"
The air is pushed out of Dean's lungs in a whoosh as Benny adjusts him to a fireman's carry. He claws at Alpha's coat, wanting it to disappear so he can feel skin under his fingers.
At the end of a long hallway, a door is opened with two keys. Some words are spoken about dead bolts, a mini-fridge of bottled water, beta staff to deliver room service, and air conditioning set to cool. Benny's hand pushes the uniformed presence out of the room with a fevered grateful thank you.
The carpet has a stain like the birthmark on Gorbachev's head. Maybe some previous mates only made it through the door. Dean's feet, however, never touch the ground. Benny throws him onto the bed, which is firm and sturdy enough to allow a Dean-bounce. His bottom layer tee is drenched in sweat, underwear ruined from leaking slick.
Suddenly Benny is covering him. Remaining clothes are dispensed in frenzy. Dean rises to his knees, presenting with acute craving. He has been good. He has waited. Now he needs his mate to fill him, to slake the heat, to join them together. He keens as he arches for his alpha, instinct driving him. Luckily the same need is consuming Benny, who massages Dean's sides and butt cheeks, bends to taste the slick dripping onto clean sheets below. Dean doesn't need to be rimmed. He is open, ready and quivering with desire.
"So sweet. You taste so good, Mon Cher."
"Hurry up." Dean pleads.
"Shush, I'll take good care of you."
"Now." Dean demands. He can't get enough, can't get it quick enough.
"Easy Tiger." Benny's laugh rumbles as he steadies his omega with a hand on his lower back. "My wonderful mate."
Finally, blessedly, his alpha's warm hard length enters him. Dean registers that his alpha too has endured torturous waiting. Benny is more than ready, the beginnings of his knot already pulsing.
"Please." Dean begs shamelessly, "Please."
Benny moans, "Dean, oh so good, Dean."
Pushing back, taking everything his alpha can offer, Dean's hands curl into fists taking the weight of his body so he can rise up, slam back. It is wanton, movement with abandon, without censor or limits. Benny groans as he pistons in and out, shaking the bed, the room, their bodies. Their breathing becomes ragged. The knot grows, catching, offering completion in their connection. When Dean's internal muscles clench in spasm, binding them together, Benny comes in waves, continuously flooding his mate, filling him.
"Awesome." Dean murmurs as they perform a slow collapse onto soft damp sheets. Knotted, spooned and peppered with his alpha's kisses he succumbs to a heat dipping nap.
In the borderland of half-wakefulness Dean's lungs fill with the intoxicating aroma of Benny's musk. During their rest they have parted, only to twist together in a mess of limbs. Dean's head is sheltered by his alpha's arm. He uses his contorted pose to his advantage, licking and laving across Benny's chest. A contented snore-like growl brings a smile to Dean's lips. Benny's hand moves to card through his hair, massaging his scalp in loving patterns. Dean nuzzles in, crooning contentedly. His ardor increases, creeping up in preparation of round two. He concentrates on leaving a trail of kisses, marks, pinking spots, lines of dragged teeth along his alpha's exposed skin. When he reaches the thatch of curls nestling his mate's hardening cock, his own dick is leaking and aching.
Big firm hands move him into place. Face to face, they can kiss deeply. Benny strokes Dean's neglected cock. The omega bows back as he comes with a glorious shout.
His twitching hole leaks slick and come. He plants his shoulders into the mattress, bending his knees in invitation
"Need you," Dean blurts, hoping his alpha gets with the program and understands.
Benny knocks their foreheads together. Dean feels that his alpha's strong brow can support every cell in his body. This time their knotting is slower, achingly slow, driving Dean crazy. His nails rake a path down his alpha's back, pulling and tugging Benny closer, encouraging. When fully seated, Benny eases down. Their eyes meet, both fevered but communicating desire and love. His alpha's head drops lower. There is bright peaking pain, as teeth break skin to renew his claiming bite. That piquancy of pain with supersonic pleasure brings Dean to a new orgasm.
While knotted, they remain wrapped together, stroking skin and offering brief incoherent words of praise.
Later when Benny can disengage, there is bottled water, salty chips, and a stumbled visit to the bathroom, before they fall together in a tangled embrace. Daylight streaks through a gap in the blinds, as Benny takes his delicious time and eats Dean out.
Time has no meaning. The bed linen is ruined. Their bodies slide in slick, perspiration and come.
A passing dead of night fire truck siren wakes Dean. He is on his side, nose pressed into Benny's spine, playing big spoon to his beloved alpha. His whole body is comprised of slack yet aching muscles. His thighs feel like they have run a marathon.
"Alpha?" Dean queries into the darkness.
Benny's turn is lazy. His rut has faded away with Dean's departed heat.
"Yeah, Sugar?"
"You good?"
He reaches up to switch on low glowing artificial light. It exposes the purples and reds of his alpha's disregarded hunting wound. Benny follows Dean's gaze before sweeping over their bodies with a wry chuckle. They are both decorated in hickeys, bites and light grazing scratches.
Dean's stomach rumbles at volume.
"How long since we've eaten?"
Benny pulls back, flailing his hand onto the floor. He finds his phone. "'s Thursday."
"Hmmm," Dean slinks back to the bolstered headboard. "Only two days."
Benny raises his brows. The big alpha crawls crablike, which is just too amusing, making Dean titter a laugh as his mate snuggles into his belly, beard rubbing across sensitized skin. "Humm, yummy."
Dean smacks playfully across the back of his skull, "Less of that. Heat's over. Elvis has left the building. Now order me pie and fries and deep fried crispy noodles and a steak." He lifts the arm Benny is not pinning down, wrinkling his nose at his stinky armpit. "First, we are going to hit the shower, Alpha."
It's like Benny hasn't heard him. The alpha kisses a wide circle round Dean's navel.
"So good, Mon Cher."
Dean caresses the back of his alpha's neck. He hums pleasantly, taking in the faint lingering spicy tendrils of musk with keynotes of Benny's earthy leather sweetness.
Dean's eyes widen at the glassy brimming stare that meets him when Benny tilts his head to gaze upward.
"Alpha?"
Benny leaves a hand on Dean's belly as he shuffles to sit pressed against him.
"Can you not sense it, Darlin'? The change?" With hesitancy he adds, "The quickening?"
A possessive hand strokes circles on his belly, wide firm alpha hand sheltering his pup.
The rush of blood through Dean's ears is mild panic. Could Benny be freaking right? Can he scent this? Is this why his heat has ended?
He closes his eyes, after all the hormones and the marvelous awesome sex, it takes a few moments to find inner peace, a state of equilibrium. Still in self-imposed darkness, Dean wraps a hand around Benny's wrist. The pulse under his finger-pads helps. In stillness he allows his instinctive side to be heard. He wants to curl. His knees rise. His chest flutters. It is unreal, unbelievable. His innate omega voice calls him to protect and guard the tiny spark of life inside.
"A pup?" It is hushed, leaving Dean open-mouthed with pure wonder.
"Our pup," Benny kisses his temple, "Our own little pup."
+++++++++++++++++++++++SPNSPNSPN++++++++++++++++++++++++++
*Holds hands up*
I didn't tag this story as mpreg, but I swear on pie that the characters made this happen. Originally I plotted for pups in the distant future. If anyone has an aversion to mpreg, I can only apologize and say that it won't be graphic but I understand it is not everyone's cup of tea.