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annundrielWeapons Maintenance and Other Useful Practices
Dean/Leon
NC-17
1821
Supernatural/Resident Evil 4 crossover.
“Oh,” Dean says, “I’m very conscientious about cleaning my guns.”
A companion to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spacefragments' ridiculously hot art. This is something of a teaser for a longer fic we are plotting, which will also include While It Is Full We Drink Up.
Many thanks toperfumaniac for the beta. ♥
Their weapons are laid out on the table before them, the smell of gun oil and metal hanging in the air. They’re silent, mostly, their focus on the guns in their hands. Occasionally Dean’s attention is caught by the pale movement of Leon’s fingers against the dark metal, their action unhindered by Leon’s fingerless gloves.
Dean gets the use of those gloves, he does, but they are too damn distracting.
Leon’s fingers are distracting.
Dean knows what Leon can do with them: on his gun, on his cock. On Dean’s cock.
He licks his lips and shifts in his seat, looks back at his own gun in his hand.
When Dean looks up the next time, Leon’s looking back. Leon’s mouth quirks to the side, a small smirk, and he wraps his fingers around the barrel of the gun, runs his thumb over the end, first one way, then the other.
Dean suppresses a shudder and narrows his eyes, purses his lips. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and raises his gun, blows down the barrel. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Leon watch him as he flicks his tongue out to flutter over the end, the tip of it teasing against the hole, around the barrel. He tastes oil and metal, a hint of gun powder; it isn’t really pleasant, but it isn’t unpleasant either, and Dean presses his lips against the steel, shivers at the feel of it.
Leon’s eyes widen on the other side of the table, and Dean’s positive they’re both hard under the table.
“I’m impressed with the level of care you’re able to give your guns,” Leon says, voice gone slightly more rough than usual. “Especially with how often they’re used, how much you’re on the road.” He glances at some of the salt-filled shotgun shells. “How creative the ammunition.”
Smirking, Dean sits up in his chair. “Oh,” he says, “I’m very conscientious about cleaning my guns.”
Leon’s tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, a glint in his eye Dean understands. “I have another gun you might want to clean.”
“Yeah, I bet you do.”
For a second, a moment, Leon doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, and then he’s setting his gun down on the table and standing.
Dean was right; there’s no hiding the way Leon is hard, pushing against the front of his pants as he walks around the table, coming to a stop close enough to Dean that their knees brush.
Leon’s gaze is hot, eyes dark, and Dean holds it as long as he can, but swallows and has to look away when Leon’s hands move to his fly, flicking the button open and carefully lowering the zipper. Slipping his hand beneath the elastic of his underwear, Leon pushes it out of the way and pulls his cock out.
Dean swallows, his mouth watering, and glances up at Leon through his eyelashes.
“Well?” Leon says, his hand wrapped around the base.
Eyes back on Leon’s cock, Dean licks his lips. Leon’s free hand comes up to cup the back of Dean’s head—not quite tugging, not quite resting—and then Dean’s leaning forward, lips parted.
Leon’s cock is hot against his lips, hot where the gun was cool, and Dean presses the tip of his tongue against it, tastes salt and skin, a hint of precome. Tilting his head, Dean watches Leon as he rubs the flat of his tongue over crown, moving downward to flick it against the underside before pulling away, turning his head to mouth at the shaft until he meets Leon’s fingers.
“Dean.”
One long lick away from Leon’s hand and Dean’s heart thuds, his lips tingle, want settling into his bones.
There’s a sharp intake of breath from above as Dean’s lips close over the head of Leon’s cock, Leon’s fingers flexing against Dean’s hair. Mouth slipping wider, Dean moves farther down Leon’s cock, tongue pressed flat against the silky hot skin. When he breathes he can smell sweat and Leon, steel and oil and powder; Dean groans around Leon and shifts forward in his chair, wanting more.
Hand sliding down over Dean’s ear, thumb against his sideburn, Leon pushes Dean back even as he shuffles forward, straddling one of Dean’s thighs. He moves until the table is at his back, the perfect height to lean against, and Dean follows him, tucks his hand between Leon’s thighs, fingers wrapping around the strap of Leon’s thigh holster as Leon tugs him forward again, fitting them back together.
With the pressure of Leon’s hand on his head, Dean sinks down easily. He doesn’t need the prompting, but he likes the feel of Leon’s palm through his glove, a muted heat compared to the lines of his fingers, likes that Leon’s too nice to force it but isn’t afraid to show exactly what he wants. Isn’t afraid to go for it.
It’s a nice change.
Dean needed a change.
Pushing the thought out of his head, Dean focuses on the feel of Leon’s cock against his tongue, the way it fills his mouth. Focuses on the softly increasing inhales and exhales coming from Leon, the sound of metal against wood as Leon’s hips twitch, jarring the table behind him.
More than anything, that’s what Dean wants right now; Leon’s hips working, his thigh tensing and relaxing beneath Dean’s fingers as he gets into it. Pushing back against Leon’s hand, Dean moves until only the head of Leon’s cock is in his mouth. He looks up at Leon, and hums around him, pulls at his leg.
When Leon just stares at him, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glazed, Dean pulls off completely. “Fuck me,” he says, voice gone rough and deep, reminding him of—well. This isn’t the time for that. Dean pulls at Leon’s thigh again. “Like this. I want you to—I want—“
Leon looks down, and Dean watches the wheels turn in his head until Leon gets it, until he’s nodding, pushing his hips toward Dean instead of pulling Dean toward him. This time when Dean opens his mouth, it’s Leon slipping inside instead of Dean moving forward.
It’s Leon’s hand holding him steady as Leon starts to move his hips, shallow at first, careful, going deeper as Dean gets his lips tight around him and starts to suck in earnest.
Closing his eyes, Dean gives Leon control, lets Leon decide what angle and direction, how fast and deep. Lets himself be used as he revels in the feel and taste and smell of Leon, presses the heel of his hand against his own cock hard in his jeans, gives himself over to it. Sucks and swallows and works his tongue against the head when Leon pulls back far enough. Dean breathes deep and lets himself be pulled back under. Feels like he’s drowning, like he’s flying, like he’s falling apart, caught between Leon’s hand and his cock, Leon’s thighs hot on either side of his own.
Dean’s lips are slick with spit and precome, his chin wet, and he’s regretting the fact that he didn’t think to open his jeans earlier and get his own cock out when he feels Leon’s thigh start to tremble beneath his fingers. Dean looks up, finds Leon’s mouth open, lips moving as he gasps out words that don’t quite make any sound.
If Dean could grin, he would.
Releasing his grip on Leon’s thigh holster, Dean slides his hand upwards to palm Leon’s tight ass. Thumb tucked behind Leon’s balls, Dean pushes against him, presses between Leon’s cheeks until the movement of Leon’s hips is stuttering and he’s groaning Dean’s name as he comes.
Dean swallows what he can as his lungs burn for air, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. God, he wants.
Leon’s cock slips from his mouth and Dean feels its loss immediately in the ache in his throat, the strain in his jaw, the way his mouth feels too empty.
He must make some sort of noise, because suddenly Leon’s hands are on either side of his face and Leon’s tongue is in his mouth, sneaking behind his teeth, slipping against his tongue, filling Dean up with distraction, giving him something to focus on that’s good and hot and bright.
Pressing his hand against his dick, Dean kisses back, tries to return some of what he’s getting. Isn’t sure if he succeeds until Leon’s pulling back, stepping away only to drop between Dean’s knees and nuzzle at his hand with things like fuck and want and Dean and more.
“Dean, Dean,” Leon says. “Let me.”
Hands shaking, Dean undoes his pants, can’t even think of relocating to the bed. He shifts pull his pants and underwear out of the way, but Leon’s mouth is on him already, sucking on him through the cotton. Dean jerks and grabs at Leon’s shoulder, wants to feel that mouth on him before he comes.
Leon glances up at him, eyes knowing, and gives one last lick, one last suck before he’s reaching beneath the elastic of Dean’s boxers to wrap his hand around Dean’s cock. Dean gives him a hand, pushing his boxers out of the way until his cock his free, achingly hard in the cooler air of the motel room.
Without warning, Leon leans forward, swallows Dean down as far as he’s able.
Dean’s hips jerk, and he reaches for Leon, fingers sliding into Leon’s hair, holding on, pulling, tugging. A lifeline in all that pleasure. Moaning, Dean’s thighs fall upon farther, as much as they can while he’s still basically dressed.
Leon licks and sucks, and Dean’s head drops back, his neck exposed. He swallows hard and breathes fast and Leon’s head his moving beneath his hands, Leon’s mouth is moving around his cock and Dean is there, he is right there, coming against Leon’s tongue, on his lips, his chin, his cheek. Coming on Leon as Leon works him through it, leaning back in to mouth at Dean once more.
Fingers still threaded in Leon’s hair, Dean pulls him back, tipping his head backwards until he can really see Leon’s face, his come against Leon’s skin. Turning Leon slightly to the side, Dean runs a tongue up his cheek, feels a hint of stubble, tastes skin and himself. He laps at Leon’s skin, kisses the rise of his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. Sucks at Leon’s jaw, following the line of it to the spot just below Leon’s ear.
Leon’s fingers clutch at the denim over Dean’s thighs.
“So,” Dean asks, Leon’s hair tickling his nose, “how’d you like my technique?”
“Not bad.” Leon’s voice shakes, but Dean can hear a smirk lurking around the edges. “But I’m going to need more than one demonstration before giving you my final answer.”
Dean tugs at Leon’s hair, sucks at the corner of his jaw. “Let me pull out my arsenal.”
Dean/Leon
NC-17
1821
Supernatural/Resident Evil 4 crossover.
“Oh,” Dean says, “I’m very conscientious about cleaning my guns.”
A companion to
spacefragments' ridiculously hot art. This is something of a teaser for a longer fic we are plotting, which will also include While It Is Full We Drink Up.Many thanks to
perfumaniac for the beta. ♥Their weapons are laid out on the table before them, the smell of gun oil and metal hanging in the air. They’re silent, mostly, their focus on the guns in their hands. Occasionally Dean’s attention is caught by the pale movement of Leon’s fingers against the dark metal, their action unhindered by Leon’s fingerless gloves.
Dean gets the use of those gloves, he does, but they are too damn distracting.
Leon’s fingers are distracting.
Dean knows what Leon can do with them: on his gun, on his cock. On Dean’s cock.
He licks his lips and shifts in his seat, looks back at his own gun in his hand.
When Dean looks up the next time, Leon’s looking back. Leon’s mouth quirks to the side, a small smirk, and he wraps his fingers around the barrel of the gun, runs his thumb over the end, first one way, then the other.
Dean suppresses a shudder and narrows his eyes, purses his lips. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and raises his gun, blows down the barrel. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Leon watch him as he flicks his tongue out to flutter over the end, the tip of it teasing against the hole, around the barrel. He tastes oil and metal, a hint of gun powder; it isn’t really pleasant, but it isn’t unpleasant either, and Dean presses his lips against the steel, shivers at the feel of it.
Leon’s eyes widen on the other side of the table, and Dean’s positive they’re both hard under the table.
“I’m impressed with the level of care you’re able to give your guns,” Leon says, voice gone slightly more rough than usual. “Especially with how often they’re used, how much you’re on the road.” He glances at some of the salt-filled shotgun shells. “How creative the ammunition.”
Smirking, Dean sits up in his chair. “Oh,” he says, “I’m very conscientious about cleaning my guns.”
Leon’s tongue sweeps over his bottom lip, a glint in his eye Dean understands. “I have another gun you might want to clean.”
“Yeah, I bet you do.”
For a second, a moment, Leon doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, and then he’s setting his gun down on the table and standing.
Dean was right; there’s no hiding the way Leon is hard, pushing against the front of his pants as he walks around the table, coming to a stop close enough to Dean that their knees brush.
Leon’s gaze is hot, eyes dark, and Dean holds it as long as he can, but swallows and has to look away when Leon’s hands move to his fly, flicking the button open and carefully lowering the zipper. Slipping his hand beneath the elastic of his underwear, Leon pushes it out of the way and pulls his cock out.
Dean swallows, his mouth watering, and glances up at Leon through his eyelashes.
“Well?” Leon says, his hand wrapped around the base.
Eyes back on Leon’s cock, Dean licks his lips. Leon’s free hand comes up to cup the back of Dean’s head—not quite tugging, not quite resting—and then Dean’s leaning forward, lips parted.
Leon’s cock is hot against his lips, hot where the gun was cool, and Dean presses the tip of his tongue against it, tastes salt and skin, a hint of precome. Tilting his head, Dean watches Leon as he rubs the flat of his tongue over crown, moving downward to flick it against the underside before pulling away, turning his head to mouth at the shaft until he meets Leon’s fingers.
“Dean.”
One long lick away from Leon’s hand and Dean’s heart thuds, his lips tingle, want settling into his bones.
There’s a sharp intake of breath from above as Dean’s lips close over the head of Leon’s cock, Leon’s fingers flexing against Dean’s hair. Mouth slipping wider, Dean moves farther down Leon’s cock, tongue pressed flat against the silky hot skin. When he breathes he can smell sweat and Leon, steel and oil and powder; Dean groans around Leon and shifts forward in his chair, wanting more.
Hand sliding down over Dean’s ear, thumb against his sideburn, Leon pushes Dean back even as he shuffles forward, straddling one of Dean’s thighs. He moves until the table is at his back, the perfect height to lean against, and Dean follows him, tucks his hand between Leon’s thighs, fingers wrapping around the strap of Leon’s thigh holster as Leon tugs him forward again, fitting them back together.
With the pressure of Leon’s hand on his head, Dean sinks down easily. He doesn’t need the prompting, but he likes the feel of Leon’s palm through his glove, a muted heat compared to the lines of his fingers, likes that Leon’s too nice to force it but isn’t afraid to show exactly what he wants. Isn’t afraid to go for it.
It’s a nice change.
Dean needed a change.
Pushing the thought out of his head, Dean focuses on the feel of Leon’s cock against his tongue, the way it fills his mouth. Focuses on the softly increasing inhales and exhales coming from Leon, the sound of metal against wood as Leon’s hips twitch, jarring the table behind him.
More than anything, that’s what Dean wants right now; Leon’s hips working, his thigh tensing and relaxing beneath Dean’s fingers as he gets into it. Pushing back against Leon’s hand, Dean moves until only the head of Leon’s cock is in his mouth. He looks up at Leon, and hums around him, pulls at his leg.
When Leon just stares at him, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glazed, Dean pulls off completely. “Fuck me,” he says, voice gone rough and deep, reminding him of—well. This isn’t the time for that. Dean pulls at Leon’s thigh again. “Like this. I want you to—I want—“
Leon looks down, and Dean watches the wheels turn in his head until Leon gets it, until he’s nodding, pushing his hips toward Dean instead of pulling Dean toward him. This time when Dean opens his mouth, it’s Leon slipping inside instead of Dean moving forward.
It’s Leon’s hand holding him steady as Leon starts to move his hips, shallow at first, careful, going deeper as Dean gets his lips tight around him and starts to suck in earnest.
Closing his eyes, Dean gives Leon control, lets Leon decide what angle and direction, how fast and deep. Lets himself be used as he revels in the feel and taste and smell of Leon, presses the heel of his hand against his own cock hard in his jeans, gives himself over to it. Sucks and swallows and works his tongue against the head when Leon pulls back far enough. Dean breathes deep and lets himself be pulled back under. Feels like he’s drowning, like he’s flying, like he’s falling apart, caught between Leon’s hand and his cock, Leon’s thighs hot on either side of his own.
Dean’s lips are slick with spit and precome, his chin wet, and he’s regretting the fact that he didn’t think to open his jeans earlier and get his own cock out when he feels Leon’s thigh start to tremble beneath his fingers. Dean looks up, finds Leon’s mouth open, lips moving as he gasps out words that don’t quite make any sound.
If Dean could grin, he would.
Releasing his grip on Leon’s thigh holster, Dean slides his hand upwards to palm Leon’s tight ass. Thumb tucked behind Leon’s balls, Dean pushes against him, presses between Leon’s cheeks until the movement of Leon’s hips is stuttering and he’s groaning Dean’s name as he comes.
Dean swallows what he can as his lungs burn for air, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. God, he wants.
Leon’s cock slips from his mouth and Dean feels its loss immediately in the ache in his throat, the strain in his jaw, the way his mouth feels too empty.
He must make some sort of noise, because suddenly Leon’s hands are on either side of his face and Leon’s tongue is in his mouth, sneaking behind his teeth, slipping against his tongue, filling Dean up with distraction, giving him something to focus on that’s good and hot and bright.
Pressing his hand against his dick, Dean kisses back, tries to return some of what he’s getting. Isn’t sure if he succeeds until Leon’s pulling back, stepping away only to drop between Dean’s knees and nuzzle at his hand with things like fuck and want and Dean and more.
“Dean, Dean,” Leon says. “Let me.”
Hands shaking, Dean undoes his pants, can’t even think of relocating to the bed. He shifts pull his pants and underwear out of the way, but Leon’s mouth is on him already, sucking on him through the cotton. Dean jerks and grabs at Leon’s shoulder, wants to feel that mouth on him before he comes.
Leon glances up at him, eyes knowing, and gives one last lick, one last suck before he’s reaching beneath the elastic of Dean’s boxers to wrap his hand around Dean’s cock. Dean gives him a hand, pushing his boxers out of the way until his cock his free, achingly hard in the cooler air of the motel room.
Without warning, Leon leans forward, swallows Dean down as far as he’s able.
Dean’s hips jerk, and he reaches for Leon, fingers sliding into Leon’s hair, holding on, pulling, tugging. A lifeline in all that pleasure. Moaning, Dean’s thighs fall upon farther, as much as they can while he’s still basically dressed.
Leon licks and sucks, and Dean’s head drops back, his neck exposed. He swallows hard and breathes fast and Leon’s head his moving beneath his hands, Leon’s mouth is moving around his cock and Dean is there, he is right there, coming against Leon’s tongue, on his lips, his chin, his cheek. Coming on Leon as Leon works him through it, leaning back in to mouth at Dean once more.
Fingers still threaded in Leon’s hair, Dean pulls him back, tipping his head backwards until he can really see Leon’s face, his come against Leon’s skin. Turning Leon slightly to the side, Dean runs a tongue up his cheek, feels a hint of stubble, tastes skin and himself. He laps at Leon’s skin, kisses the rise of his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. Sucks at Leon’s jaw, following the line of it to the spot just below Leon’s ear.
Leon’s fingers clutch at the denim over Dean’s thighs.
“So,” Dean asks, Leon’s hair tickling his nose, “how’d you like my technique?”
“Not bad.” Leon’s voice shakes, but Dean can hear a smirk lurking around the edges. “But I’m going to need more than one demonstration before giving you my final answer.”
Dean tugs at Leon’s hair, sucks at the corner of his jaw. “Let me pull out my arsenal.”
