Fic: Just To Take A Ride
Feb. 2nd, 2011 05:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sunspotTitle: Just To Take A Ride
Fandom: Leverage/Supernatural
Pairing: Eliot Spencer/Dean Winchester
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 1,200
Summary: Dean hears music coming from up a flight of stairs and he thinks it's possible his luck is starting to turn around.
Author's Notes: Beta'd by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
waterofthemoon. Thanks, dear. Written for the prompts 'storm' and 'guitar' @ Porn Battle XI. Title from Creedance Clearwater Revival's Cross-Tie Walker.
Alternately, read on AO3.
Dean was winding his way through back streets and unlit alleys when the downpour started. "Just great," he muttered. He ducked into the closest doorway to see if maybe his luck would turn around for once and the rain would let up in a few minutes so he could make it back to the car relatively unscathed.
He leaned back against the old wooden door and tried to keep warm in his jacket. Leather was all right for keeping the rain out, but Dean's coat was old and cracked, and water was starting to seep through the seams. Dean let his head thud back against the door at the same moment a rumble of thunder sounded overhead, so he couldn't tell where exactly where the echo was coming from, but as it faded, he could hear music coming through the door. It was faint, coming from upstairs, but the tune was familiar in a way he couldn't place.
Dean tried the handle, and it turned easily, so he let himself inside. It was dry and dark, with a watery light filtering from somewhere upstairs, presumably where the music was coming from. It was Ramblin' Man, Dean decided after a moment, but a quieter version than he'd heard before. He listened at the bottom of the stairs for another verse before he realized it was someone playing the guitar.
When the song was over, Dean was waiting for another thunderclap to mask the sound of him leaving when the light at the top of the stairs wavered.
"Any requests, man? I was going to play a couple more before I head out."
The man at the top of the stairs was back lit in the open doorway, so Dean couldn't see him very well, but his voice was low and smoky and went straight to Dean's groin.
"Uh... CCR?"
"What, have you ever seen the rain?" the man scoffed. "Come on up, it's warmer up here." He turned back into the lighted doorway and was gone.
Dean touched the knife at his back for reassurance and went up the creaking stairs. The apartment was just one open room, a little decrepit looking, but it was warm and the roof barely leaked. "What brings you to Ashland?" the guy asked once Dean had taken a seat.
"Work."
"I hear you." He played a few descending scales with his eyes closed, hands dancing over the strings carefully. Dean had always thought the guitar was badass, but he'd never had the time or determination to learn.
"Eliot," the other guy said, offering Dean a tentative smile.
"Dean."
Eliot started to play Cross-Tie Walker, and Dean hummed along because he didn't remember all the words. Apparently Eliot did though, because he sang along, quiet and tentative. He remembered the lyrics as Eliot sang, and he thought they were maybe a little too ironic. He wondered if Eliot was thinking the same thing.
"Nice," Dean said, once Eliot had finished and set down the guitar. It was, by far, the nicest thing in the apartment. Dean studied it for a moment. Bright polished wood and perfect curves stood out in stark relief against the cracked floor and moth-chewed curtains.
"The storm is really picking up," Eliot said. "You have far to go tonight?"
"Not really. Maybe." Dean never had far to go in the same way that he always had somewhere far to go. If you ignored the part about the trains, Dean was his own version of a cross-tie walker. But then again, if you ignored the part about the trains, the song wasn't about much.
"Right, look --"
Dean held his hands up defensively, heading him off. "Look, I can go, I can always find somewhere else to be. It's cool."
"I was going to say 'I have beer,' but if your somewhere is better than here, by all means..."
"I gotta drive," Dean muttered. He turned around to find his coat. He felt sleazy and mentally berated himself for tangling with an artist-type. But what the hell, right, musicians were supposed to be easy and nothing else had been going his way. If he could get a quick fuck before he had to go back out in the rain, he thought he deserved it.
So, Dean ended up flat on his back on the shitty mattress. The rain was still coming down in sheets, and the beer was cold, and yeah, maybe his day was starting to turn around. "Fuck," Dean hissed, "faster."
Eliot didn't listen to him at all and kept his slow, even pace. Dean was squirming impatiently under him, one hand on his own cock and one on Eliot's shoulder, trying to coax him go deeper or faster or really anything other than the tight, agonizing slowness.
But trying to coax him to do anything was like trying to coax a mountain. He was obviously wasn't going to be forthcoming with personal details, but Dean was tempted to ask where he was from because damn did they ever grow them big there. While Eliot took his time murdering Dean slowly with teasing and the most devilish smirk Dean had ever seen outside of a mirror, Dean was re-evaluating his original perceptions. Eliot was very solidly built, and despite the shitty apartment and the acoustic guitar and scruffy look, he was probably not a musician. Again, Dean was tempted to ask, but he didn't.
"Wait," Eliot breathed, flicking his hair out of his eyes for the tenth time. He pulled out carefully and sat back on his heels. He shoved Dean back down onto the bed when he tried to sit up and twisted his hair back with his free hand.
When he came back to Dean, he came back with a vengeance. Dean bit down hard on his lip to keep from shouting out loud because Eliot was suddenly giving him exactly what he'd been asking for for the last half hour. The storm continued outside, but Dean had almost forgotten all about it and he came with only another half-dozen strokes of his dick.
Eliot paused for a moment and glanced down at his chest where Dean's come had ended up. He gave Dean a dirty look, but Dean barely noticed that either. Eliot came not long after, pulling out just in time to make sure Dean got messy, too.
"Classy," Dean said, when the high wore off and he got around to noticing. He wiped his thighs with the stained bed sheets and started the search for his clothes. Of course, he had the luck to have thrown his shirt exactly under the one leaky part in the roof, and it was soaked with rainwater. Eliot tossed him one from somewhere and Dean caught it in one hand.
"Thanks. And uh, thanks."
Eliot leaned against the wall with a half-empty beer in his hand, watching Dean without showing any real interest. "Sure."
"I'm going to go."
"See you."
Dean paused in the doorway at the top of the stairs. "I don't think I'm going to be able to hear that song again without getting hard."
Eliot grinned lazily, like a cat. Dean walked out.
Fandom: Leverage/Supernatural
Pairing: Eliot Spencer/Dean Winchester
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 1,200
Summary: Dean hears music coming from up a flight of stairs and he thinks it's possible his luck is starting to turn around.
Author's Notes: Beta'd by
waterofthemoon. Thanks, dear. Written for the prompts 'storm' and 'guitar' @ Porn Battle XI. Title from Creedance Clearwater Revival's Cross-Tie Walker.Alternately, read on AO3.
Dean was winding his way through back streets and unlit alleys when the downpour started. "Just great," he muttered. He ducked into the closest doorway to see if maybe his luck would turn around for once and the rain would let up in a few minutes so he could make it back to the car relatively unscathed.
He leaned back against the old wooden door and tried to keep warm in his jacket. Leather was all right for keeping the rain out, but Dean's coat was old and cracked, and water was starting to seep through the seams. Dean let his head thud back against the door at the same moment a rumble of thunder sounded overhead, so he couldn't tell where exactly where the echo was coming from, but as it faded, he could hear music coming through the door. It was faint, coming from upstairs, but the tune was familiar in a way he couldn't place.
Dean tried the handle, and it turned easily, so he let himself inside. It was dry and dark, with a watery light filtering from somewhere upstairs, presumably where the music was coming from. It was Ramblin' Man, Dean decided after a moment, but a quieter version than he'd heard before. He listened at the bottom of the stairs for another verse before he realized it was someone playing the guitar.
When the song was over, Dean was waiting for another thunderclap to mask the sound of him leaving when the light at the top of the stairs wavered.
"Any requests, man? I was going to play a couple more before I head out."
The man at the top of the stairs was back lit in the open doorway, so Dean couldn't see him very well, but his voice was low and smoky and went straight to Dean's groin.
"Uh... CCR?"
"What, have you ever seen the rain?" the man scoffed. "Come on up, it's warmer up here." He turned back into the lighted doorway and was gone.
Dean touched the knife at his back for reassurance and went up the creaking stairs. The apartment was just one open room, a little decrepit looking, but it was warm and the roof barely leaked. "What brings you to Ashland?" the guy asked once Dean had taken a seat.
"Work."
"I hear you." He played a few descending scales with his eyes closed, hands dancing over the strings carefully. Dean had always thought the guitar was badass, but he'd never had the time or determination to learn.
"Eliot," the other guy said, offering Dean a tentative smile.
"Dean."
Eliot started to play Cross-Tie Walker, and Dean hummed along because he didn't remember all the words. Apparently Eliot did though, because he sang along, quiet and tentative. He remembered the lyrics as Eliot sang, and he thought they were maybe a little too ironic. He wondered if Eliot was thinking the same thing.
"Nice," Dean said, once Eliot had finished and set down the guitar. It was, by far, the nicest thing in the apartment. Dean studied it for a moment. Bright polished wood and perfect curves stood out in stark relief against the cracked floor and moth-chewed curtains.
"The storm is really picking up," Eliot said. "You have far to go tonight?"
"Not really. Maybe." Dean never had far to go in the same way that he always had somewhere far to go. If you ignored the part about the trains, Dean was his own version of a cross-tie walker. But then again, if you ignored the part about the trains, the song wasn't about much.
"Right, look --"
Dean held his hands up defensively, heading him off. "Look, I can go, I can always find somewhere else to be. It's cool."
"I was going to say 'I have beer,' but if your somewhere is better than here, by all means..."
"I gotta drive," Dean muttered. He turned around to find his coat. He felt sleazy and mentally berated himself for tangling with an artist-type. But what the hell, right, musicians were supposed to be easy and nothing else had been going his way. If he could get a quick fuck before he had to go back out in the rain, he thought he deserved it.
So, Dean ended up flat on his back on the shitty mattress. The rain was still coming down in sheets, and the beer was cold, and yeah, maybe his day was starting to turn around. "Fuck," Dean hissed, "faster."
Eliot didn't listen to him at all and kept his slow, even pace. Dean was squirming impatiently under him, one hand on his own cock and one on Eliot's shoulder, trying to coax him go deeper or faster or really anything other than the tight, agonizing slowness.
But trying to coax him to do anything was like trying to coax a mountain. He was obviously wasn't going to be forthcoming with personal details, but Dean was tempted to ask where he was from because damn did they ever grow them big there. While Eliot took his time murdering Dean slowly with teasing and the most devilish smirk Dean had ever seen outside of a mirror, Dean was re-evaluating his original perceptions. Eliot was very solidly built, and despite the shitty apartment and the acoustic guitar and scruffy look, he was probably not a musician. Again, Dean was tempted to ask, but he didn't.
"Wait," Eliot breathed, flicking his hair out of his eyes for the tenth time. He pulled out carefully and sat back on his heels. He shoved Dean back down onto the bed when he tried to sit up and twisted his hair back with his free hand.
When he came back to Dean, he came back with a vengeance. Dean bit down hard on his lip to keep from shouting out loud because Eliot was suddenly giving him exactly what he'd been asking for for the last half hour. The storm continued outside, but Dean had almost forgotten all about it and he came with only another half-dozen strokes of his dick.
Eliot paused for a moment and glanced down at his chest where Dean's come had ended up. He gave Dean a dirty look, but Dean barely noticed that either. Eliot came not long after, pulling out just in time to make sure Dean got messy, too.
"Classy," Dean said, when the high wore off and he got around to noticing. He wiped his thighs with the stained bed sheets and started the search for his clothes. Of course, he had the luck to have thrown his shirt exactly under the one leaky part in the roof, and it was soaked with rainwater. Eliot tossed him one from somewhere and Dean caught it in one hand.
"Thanks. And uh, thanks."
Eliot leaned against the wall with a half-empty beer in his hand, watching Dean without showing any real interest. "Sure."
"I'm going to go."
"See you."
Dean paused in the doorway at the top of the stairs. "I don't think I'm going to be able to hear that song again without getting hard."
Eliot grinned lazily, like a cat. Dean walked out.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-03 03:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-21 03:07 am (UTC)