November 5, 2012
[fic] cabin fever, dean/benny

cabin fever
for k, who prompted ‘dean/benny, smoke.’ ~1,040 words; pornlet; nc-17; unbeta’ed.

~

The sex is different outside of Purgatory, but not any less necessary, any less frenzied.

There’s more time for it though. When Dean comes all over Benny’s fist, eyes squeezed tight and mouth shaped by a breathless moan, Benny takes the time to lick his own hand clean, and then proceeds to lick a slow, wet slide down Dean’s tender cock, lapping at Dean like his come is the best thing since AB negative blood.

When Dean has the wherewithal to crack open his eyes and sit up on the cot Benny’s stashed in the corner of his boat, he sees the other man grinning like the sly motherfucker he is, licking his fingers clean and leaning back against the wall.

"How you doing over there, brother? I wipe you out?" Benny asks, voice a sandpaper rough whisper in the heated room.

"Fuck you," Dean groans, body heavy and sated from the two orgasms he’s had so far tonight. Fuck Benny and his hands. And his tongue. And his goddamn perfect cock.

Benny’s eyebrows go up and he laughs, the sound deep and liquid-rough in his throat. He says, “I missed those good manners of yours, Dean.”

Dean grunts, watching as Benny rises to his feet and walks across the cabin, slices of moonlight splashing over his nakedness, the soft, rounded curves of his ass, the dark hair curling across his chest and arms. Dean feels his cock twitch a little, and he finds himself smiling at the idea of another round, fingering the deep bruises Benny left on his thighs and along the meat of his hipbones.

When Benny settles back on the cot beside Dean, he’s carrying a matchbook and a pack of Marlboros, and Dean arches a brow. “You smoke?” he asks, surprised to find out something new about a man he spent the last year fighting beside.

"Not in fifty damn years," Benny says, lighting up and taking a long, slow, deep drag of the cigarette before blowing out and resting his head against the wall.

Dean watches the smoke curl around Benny’s temple, and he’s not surprised when Benny holds out the cigarette; an offer. Dean accepts because it’s been a few lifetimes since he last lit up as well. It was something he used to do after Sammy left for Stanford, to try to mend his broken heart and hide from the gaping chasm of loneliness.


Their fingers brush as Dean takes the cigarette. He slowly puts the filter to his lips, inhaling deeply as he watches the paper bloom red at the tip.

The boat’s cabin is dusty and hot, smells of sex and sweat and rough living. Dean exhales, and the smoke rises like steam up towards the ceiling.

"These things are a lot more expensive than I remember them being," Benny says into the comfortable silence, after Dean’s offered the cigarette back to him.

"It’s called price inflation," Dean says, lips quirked.

"Yeah?” Benny says, exhaling around the word. He’s smirking as he passes the cigarette to Dean again.

Dean takes another drag, eyeing the man with a teasing smile as he passes it back. “Yeah,” he says, exhaling a thick puff upward.

"Huh," Benny says, turning away for a moment to ash the cigarette in an empty coffee cup on the nightstand beside the cot. He turns back to Dean and cocks an eyebrow as he says, "That mouth of yours know how to suck on anything besides that filter?"

Dean laughs, and it feels damn good to be home. He climbs across the cot and crawls on top of Benny until he’s straddling the man, his hands landing against the meat of his shoulders as Benny’s hands grip tight around his waist. Dean grinds down, and Benny’s hips buck up, and Dean can feel the thick length of him sliding against the crease of his sore ass, the tip of Benny’s cock leaving slick precome against his inner-thigh. His skin there tingles, still tender from the rough-scratch burn of Benny’s beard.

"You once told me my mouth was the best thing about me," Dean says, pushing his face against Benny’s neck, lips gliding against the slick skin of his throat. Benny digs his fingers deeper into Dean’s hips, new marks covering old ones.

"That was before I tasted your cock," Benny says, voice breaking and cracking as Dean licks at the sweaty dip of Benny’s throat and then scrapes his teeth over the thin skin.

"Bite me and I may have to bite you," Benny adds on a broken moan.

"Try it," Dean growls the challenge, even though he knows Benny wouldn’t go there with them; too risky.

Benny moves a hand under Dean’s thighs, his rough, calloused fingers exploring Dean, finding his hole, and Dean’s sucking in a breath as they trace his rim, still loose and wet from before. Dean moans, legs parting to give him better access, and Benny laughs, breathless.

"I’m not gonna fuck you again tonight, but I do still want your mouth on me, brother," Benny says, and Dean chuckles and pulls back then, watching Benny’s fingers slide out of him.

"Greedy fucker," Dean says, moving closer again, running his lips along Benny’s collarbone to his chest, fingers tangling in his chest hair as he sucks one nipple and then another into his mouth.

Dean slides down Benny, moving lower, brushing his mouth over the hills of his ribcage, down into the dip of his belly button, following the line of dark hair leading to the hot arc of his blood-red cock. His breath gusts over Benny’s dick in damp puffs, and Dean glances up and smiles just once before he dips his head down, licks a circle along Benny’s cockhead, and then opens wide and takes him all the way in.

Benny throws his head back and opens his mouth in a strangled moan the likes of which Dean hasn’t heard since Purgatory.

~

Dean sits back and studies Benny, watching the cigarette dangle from his lips. “What are you going to do with yourself now?” he asks.

Benny takes a long drag this time before glancing at Dean. “I don’t know,” he says. “What about you?”

"Fuck if I know," Dean says, pushing himself closer to him and pulling Benny’s face to his face, taking the cigarette out of his mouth, and kissing him for all he’s worth.

Benny’s laughing as Dean steals the smoke from his lungs.

For now, this is enough.

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