The Ghosts that sell Memories von abgemeldet (Supernatural / Queer as Folk (US) crossover) ================================================================================ Part 10: ...Babylon - loud, colorful, packed. --------------------------------------------- Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the long wait. Lots of work and family drama, and the former could make this the one and only chapter this month, too. If it is, I apologize in advance. Anyway. Happy Valentine's Day, and enjoy! ____ Babylon is everything Dean hoped and feared it would be. Loud, colorful, packed with lots of hot guys – and did he mention loud? Okay, so no, that’s not the problem. The problem is the hot guys. Yup. Temptation is a tricky, dangerous enemy, with claws and teeth and not shy of using them. It’s a monster, and the tingle in his gut isn't helping fight it off, either. He’s on the way back from his fourth or so trip to the bathroom, avoiding the bright eyes of half a dozen guys giving him The Look and wiping sweaty palms on rough, worn jeans, when he thinks that it’s time to leave. Either that or he’s going to give in and follow one of the willing onlookers into the backroom, his brother’s watchful eyes be damned. Pushing himself through the crowd of half-naked bodies, he ignores the onslaught of touches, most of them accidental, he’s sure, but plenty of them not. No one really made a move on him. Yes, there are looks and they are more than enough to broadcast the message. A few dared to even invite him on a drink, some of which he accepted. Sam, Dean thinks, smirking, well, he had his own lot of come-ons, most of them taking off when Dean so much as glared in their direction. Oh he’s pretty damn sure that Sam can hold his own, but come on, it’s fun, and in the end Sam’s still his little brother. Those few inches of height be damned. That aside, they both had a lot of fun, which in turn, surprised him more than a little. Brian and Justin are fascinating people to be around; funny, witty, sharp, it’s a lot of fun to watch them interact, too. With others and with each other. When he finally reaches the bar after removing an exceptionally persistent pair of hands, he’s not surprised to find Sam alone there. Yet he has no problem figuring out where their companions went. Justin loves to dance, hell, the kid lives dancing, really, and Sam’s eyeing the dance floor, which pretty much confirms his suspicion. There’s no need to turn around to validate it for himself. Dean just knows what his brother’s looking at. Who he’s looking at. Half the club is watching them. He turns anyway. Brian and Justin kissing is erotic, yeah, but it has nothing, nothing on watching them dance. Out there, in the middle of the dance floor they look like one body, one single human being, pressed so close together he’s sure there’s nothing you could fit in between. Moving in the flashes of lights, their skin is glistening with sweat, dancing shadows stroking their faces, hands, their bodies while they turn and kiss and touch, never missing a beat. Never stop moving. Dean watches closely, watches as Brian guides a hand from the blond’s waist, moving it up to his shoulder and into the kid’s hair. Justin moves his head then, looking up. Staring. Staring into each other’s eyes, the way like there’s no one else around. Like the other is the only one around. Like there’s nothing but them and music and feeling and dancing. And kissing. Even though the dance floor is freakin’ packed like nobody’s business, they could very well be alone in the world. They probably wouldn’t even notice. A quick glance over at his brother leaves him a little queasy. Sam is staring at them like he never saw them before. Maybe he didn’t. Not like this, anyway. Mouth hanging open, eyes wide, his skin is more than a little flushed even though the kid’s been drinking nothing but Coke and water and nonalcoholic beer. That intense look, that soft frown between his brows, it makes his gut churn a little. It’s not a picture of revulsion or dislike, oh no, it’s more like he’s watching something he can't take his eyes of. And not a bad thing at that. Like he figured something out. Dean should be glad about that, and the sane part of his brain tries to tell him just that, but that persistent, suspicious part flashes warning signs so brightly that they leave the flashing spotlights in the dust. Warning him of what? Well, he’s got to figure that one out. Later. Right now the nice buzz of alcohol racing in his blood, the beat of the music as well as the heat in his belly overshadow his rational thinking. Once he’s getting out of here, that shouldn’t be a problem so much any longer. Moving his attention from his brother to the dancing and the crowd of bystanders, there are a lot of guys watching the pair as well. Sans the small frown, but with a lot more heat and hunger in their eyes. The same heated looks he collected more than his fair share of all night. And who would blame them for looking? Who could? Deliberately or not, the couple draws attention like whoa. It’s them. How they move, more times than not at their own pace, their own rhythm. Hearing a wholly different song. How they touch. Four hands seem to stroke, pat, caress everywhere at once, neck, hip, ass, back, chest, face - everywhere. So close, touching from their legs right up to their chests, sometimes even forehead to forehead. And Jesus Christ, it’s a beautiful picture. A piece of art. Something stirs in his groin, heat crawling lower and right between his legs. He doesn’t even notice the fingertips tracing the growing erection in his jeans, the weight of his own hand between his legs. It takes a soft, needy moan, overly loud in his ears, to snap him out of it. Biting his lips, he silently curses himself for drinking enough to lower his inhibitions like this, lowering his defenses. Snatching his own hand away like it’s burning, he turns away. Away from the temptation that is Justin and Brian and the danger that are the alert eyes of his brother. If this is Sam, then the eyes are green à Brown eyes change from confused to worried in a heartbeat, he can make that one out of the corner of his eyes, but he acts like he doesn’t notice. Jumping at the hand on his arm, at the unexpected touch, the worried frown deepens. “You okay?” “Uh, yeah,” he croaks, licking dry lips and signaling the bartender for another drink. “Yeah,” he tries again, sounding a lot surer than he feels. “No worries, Sam. I just, ah, turned too fast.” Sam doesn’t look like he believes him, not even close, but he keeps his mouth shut, and that’s what counts. A few guys burst out laughing close to them and when he turns back, his brother isn’t staring at him anymore. Thanking the bartender when he refills Dean’s glass, he keeps his eyes firmly on it. He’s not going to make the same mistake again. Repeat after me: I, Dean Winchester, am not going to make the mistake of staring at Justin and Brian for too long and getting a major hard-on again. I am not going to make the mistake of staring at them and getting a major hard-on again. I am not. Right. He nods to himself, he’s so not, nope. Got it! Maybe he had a bit more to drink than he thought when he’s talking to himself. Or worse, trying to talk himself out of something. Checking his watch – and yes, he can very well read the tiny figures, thank you – it really is time to go. Not because it’s that late or that early, depends on your point of view, but ‘cause if he’s going to drink much more, it’s not going to take long until all of his inhibitions go to hell and that’s never a good idea. Okay. Usually it’s not. Only at times. He feels Sam keeping throwing looks his ways. Dean doesn’t think it’s so much suspicious or anything, just curious, maybe? Searching? Probably. Worried? Definitely. He doesn’t get why, and maybe that’s not so bad. At least right now. He jokes about how much guys hit on he and Sammy in the last few hours, but his brother doesn’t seem into it when they throw joking insults back and forth. He doesn’t really know what to make out of that, and it’s hard to explain. Sam seems to be waiting for something, maybe for him to throw up. Yeah, well, that’s not gonna happen. He’s nothing near that drunk, and Sam of all people should know that. Perhaps he’s projecting, seeing things that aren’t there, but fuck, it’s annoying. Makes him nervous. He hates being nervous. Oh, how he hates being fucking nervous! Like he hates planes and flying. Or… ya know, almost as much. In the background, he hears the music changing again, the blinking of the lights changing in tune. A slower rhythm, yet hyper enough to get the crowd going. Sammy is watching the dance floor again, sitting there like it’s the most normal thing to do. For a straight guy. Somehow they still managed to keep a fairly low profile all night despite being here with Brian and Justin. They are something akin to celebrity around here. Everybody knows them, everybody has a story to tell about them. No matter if you want to hear it or not. Apparently, Justin met Brian when he was seventeen years old. Brian took him home, popped his cherry - so to speak - and sent him on his way in the morning to never meet again. Or so he thought. Only Justin came back, again and again, despite Brian having a policy of fucking every guy only once. Yup, that’s right. The exception – obviously – being blondie. Some say it’s because he’s a good fuck, others say it’s because it really is love – on both sides - and the rest, well, they want to get it on with one or both of them. Dean had nearly laughed out loud as he had a guy telling him that on his second – or was it third? – trip to the bathroom. Anyway. Those two, obviously, have a history. Lots and lots of it, too, as it seems. “They… look good together, don’t they?” Sam says, and Dean tries not to startle too bad. Turning, he quirks an eyebrow. Sam sighs like it’s such a burden. “I didn’t mean it like that, you jerk, and you know that!” “I don’t know. How did you mean it, little brother?” “Nothing! Jesus, Dean, forget about it. I don’t even know why I try!” Huh? “Try? What try?” “Forget it! It’s not worth it.” “You’re in a mood, Francis. PMS’ing much there?” Bitchface firmly in place, Sam doesn’t bother with a reply. He just glares. Glares like Dean’s the fly on the wall he wants to crush. With a sledgehammer. Which, ouch. Scowling, he holds up his hands saying okay, you win, and goes back to his drink. After he’s done with it, they are leaving. And there’s nothing anyone can say to chance his mind. Nodding to himself, he finds himself frowning. What’s your deal, little brother?, he thinks, watching him watch the couple out of the corner of his eyes. They give each other the silent treatment for a few minutes, long enough to drown half of his drink. He can’t get shitfaced tonight, not like the night Brian found him at Woody’s. “How about we call it a night?” he finally speaks, right before he takes another large gulp from his glass. “Already?” “Yeah, well, it’s not that early… and we have work to do, too.” Sam shrugs. “I just thought you’d like to stay longer, you know.” No, I don’t know! Don’t say things like that to me, Sammy, it’s freakin’ me the hell out! Of course he doesn’t say it, it would just sound fishy, and he knows it. Because it is. Instead he says, “Nah, I had enough for a night.” He could go for some shut-eye right about now. Plus, there’s the temptation to just say, ‘fuck it’ and get a hot guy to…to-- He cuts his thoughts off when he notices Sam watching him. Again. Only more closely, the way he does when he thinks something is going on. In other words, wrong, and big brother is not telling. Most of the time, Sam right. Yet Dean doubts he is right now. Whatever it is he’s thinking. “Okay… I’m kinda beat anyway,” he finally states. Sam doesn’t look beat, not as bad as he sometimes does with the nightmares and the visions and… yeah. “Lightweight,” he teases, smiling to take the sting out of the word. “Okay, so I’m gonna go and let the lovebirds know that we’re leaving.” When he turns to face the dancing crowed, Brian and Justin are nowhere in sight. Dean frowns. Huh? “Where’d Blondie and Brian disappear to?” Shrugging, Sam half turns to face Dean. “Over there,” he says, pointing to a doorway in the back. Uh-oh. Of course they’d be in there the moment Dean decides to leave. But Sam isn’t finished yet. “Why don’t you let me do that and you finish your drink, Dean?” Nope. No way. “I don’t think that this,” he says, nodding in direction of the door, “is something for those pure, naïve, puppy dog eyes of yours, Francis.” He’s not really sure how to say this and that sure as hell says something, isn't it? Dean isn't ever shy to talk about something. “Huh?” The look of confusion is not unexpected. “Why’s that?” Go for the kicker, why don’t you? “That, my dear little brother, is a backroom.” Frowning now. “So?” “So?” He tilts his head and regards his brother with a skeptical look. “Sammy, did you ever do something besides studying in college? Like, I don’t know, have fun?” Then again, do a lot of not gay nightclubs close to Standford have backrooms? He kinda doubts it. “What? Cut the crap Dean, what, exactly, is a backroom?” Well… if he wants to know? Dean smirks, raising his brows. “Let’s say it’s for the entertainment of the clientele a special kind of entertainment, if you get my drift.” It’s true. Sex definitely is a form of entertainment, and a popular one at that. It’s not called ‘favorite national pastime’ for nothing, you know. Aside from baseball, football and all that jazz, of course. “So why did you say it’s nothing for. Wait a minute. You’ve got to be kidding me. Dean, are you telling me? I don’t believe--” “Believe it. I don’t kid about sex, dude. Ever.” Frowning, he adds, “I though you knew that, too.” “You mean you actually go in there to…” He makes a vague gesture with his hands and Dean snorts. “Fuck? Yeah.” Now, Sammy doesn’t blush, and Dean gives him credit for that, but he looks vaguely, uhm, stunned. Yeah. “Uh... that’s…” “Don’t worry, little brother, I’m gonna sacrifice myself for you and go to find them. We’ll leave this much ‘fun’ for another day, shall we. Or, ya know, never.” Patting Sam on the back, he slips from the barstool. “Sure you can defend your virtue without me for a few minutes?” “Dean!” “Okay, okay. Don’t get your panties in a twist, princess. Alas, good to know that some things never change. Like the lack of a sense of humor in your nature.” Chuckling a little to himself, he yet again makes his way through the crowd toward Babylon’s backroom. He doesn’t flinch when he walks in. He knows what to expect. So, yeah, he’s been here before. Not here as in this exact backroom, but other. And no matter where you are, if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. In the ways that count, it’s nothing new. He can ignore the sounds by now as well as the stench of sex and semen. Doesn’t register with him anymore. He digs graves on a regular base, burns human bones, exorcises demons, etc., which ultimately boils down to the fact he’s used to a lot of things. And compared to that, this is a picnic. Walking by chains and shackles and what-not on black walls later, he finally finds what he’s looking for in a vaguely secluded alcove. They still look beautiful, even in here. And he’s so not staring at them. Not gonna happen. Clearing his throat to get their attention, they all but freeze in kissing and groping each other – sooo not going there, buddy! – they, or better said Justin, has the decency to remove his tongue from the other’s mouth. Brian grumbles something he can’t make out when the blond turns to look at Dean. “Hi Dean!” the blond chirps, sounding all too chipper as blue eyes slowly focus on him. It takes far too long for Dean’s taste, pupils unnaturally dilated even in the low light, which can only mean one thing: drugs. Given the surroundings, it shouldn’t come as big as a surprise as it does. “Hi Dean!” Brian echoes him, not cheery at all and not bothering to look up. “Nice to see you.” He sounds as sincere as a politician during his election speech. Justin giggles nevertheless, but there’s no humor in the brunette’s next words: “You actually dared to walk into the lion’s den? Fucking impressive, I admit. I didn’t think you’d have the balls.” Dean’s chuckle is only a little forced. And a lot annoyed. “Dude. I’m not as innocent as you’d like to think,” he half-jokes, “not even close.” “Yeah.” Brian drawls, fingering the collar of Justin’s shirt, half open and showing. “I bet.” And all of a sudden, a dozen alarms go off in his head. This is not good, what ever ‘this’ is. “So what are you looking for? I can recommend some pretty good fucks around here.” I’m sure you could. “Uh, no, thanks, I actually came to tell you Sammy and I are leaving.” “I doubt it.” “Sorry?” Brian lets go of Justin and turns to face him in one swift motion. Hooking his fingers onto the front of his pant, the guy jerks him forward a step. “You didn’t come, at least not… just yet, did you?” He smirks openly, all teeth and wide eyes, and Dean abruptly realizes that Justin is not the only one high. “Dude…” “Brian…” “Oh come on, he likes it, you like it”, he says, stroking his chest. And the thing is, Dean does like it. Dick stirring under Brian’s knowing touch, and yeah, the poor thing didn’t get all that much attention in the last weeks due to work. It’s no wonder it’s so fucking quick to respond to someone touching him. But... Wait. Did he just refer to his dick as ‘poor thing’? Ouch. “I think you’d like a good, long fuck, too. Or maybe two or three.” Well, he’s not wrong. But this is neither the time nor the place. No, strike that. It is the right place, but not the right time. Taking a deep, calming breath, Dean curls his hand around the hand grabbing his jeans and takes a step back. He needs space between himself and Brian’s all too warm hands and he needs it badly. The bastard has the nerve to actually snicker. Fucking moron. “A nice, tight ass, huh, Dean? Or maybe,” he pauses, once again closing the gap between them, hand traveling to his ass, squeezing. “You’d like getting fucked better. What do you say?” He leans in closer, too close, until they are cheek to cheek. Breathing his aftershave and feeling the stubble on his chin. “I think you do. A warm, wet tongue getting you ready down there, nice and slippery, rimming you sooo good until you can’t take it anymore, begging for a nice hard cock to fill you up. Fucking you hard and deep. Get rid of some… pressure.” Brian bites his neck and Dean swallows a hiss. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” And… Jesus Christ! Yes, for fuck’s sake, YES he would, but. Not now. Not right now, and not with Sam so close by. As horny as he is, no. No way in hell. It’s too risky. Brian moves even closer, his front pressed to Dean’s side, effectively pinning one arm between them. He feels those lips move against the shell of his ear when the man whispers the combination to the alarm of the loft to him. A combination he very well remembers from the other night, before he goes on to tell him that he’s much better ideas and that he’s sure Dean would like them as well. “You don’t want to go there”, he’s told. Burying his nose behind Dean’s ear, rubbing it against the sweaty skin there, Dean is vaguely reminded of long forgotten make-out sessions in the back of cheap movie theaters. Girls and boys. Brian does smell good. It would be oh-so-easy to just let go, to give in and let Brian live up to his promises. Only he can’t. And if he got one thing from growing up like he did, it’s self-control. The moment clever fingers start to unbutton his pants, Dean knows it’s time to leave. Not gonna happen. He turns the grip he has on the hand into steel, squeezing tight to the point where it has to hurt. Brian barely blinks. “Uh-huh. I don’t think so, dude.” Brian looks at him, amused. Like he doesn’t believe a word he says. “You want it. Don’t even try to fucking deny it.” “I don’t.” “Liar,” he murmurs, laughing softly under his breath and with a twinkle in his eyes. “Your cock pretty much agrees with me, so I don’t think you’re in a position to--” “No. I mean, I don’t deny it. But I have a job to do. There’s no time for this,” he explains, which he almost regrets. Oh who is he trying to kid? He definitely regrets it. “And certainly not with Sam waiting out there.” “Geez, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Don’t you think the guy can fucking take care of himself for ten minutes while you get your dick sucked?” “What?” “I mean, are you just blind or are you really that fucking stupid?” Huh? “What?” Yeah, very eloquent. “As if he can't tell what’s going on.” Brian snorts and Dean straightens. “He fucking cares about you, I’m sure he wouldn’t object for you having a little bit of fun in here. I’m sure that’s why he came here in the first place. What the fuck do you care what he thinks about you sucking cock every once in a while? Or who you fuck?” Pause. “Or who fucks you?” “That’s none of your business.” His voice is as hard as the grip on the man’s wrist. “It’s not, just don’t expect me to lie for your little charade.” Justin comes up to stand closer then, hand on his lover’s arm, “Brian. I don’t think…” “Fuck off, Justin.” “I thought you wanted to fuck me,” he says, wriggling his brows, and Dean can’t help but laugh. It’s almost sweet that the kid tries to save him this time. Unnecessary, but sweet nonetheless. “I’ll leave you to your late-night entertainment then,” Dean says quietly, offering the blond a smile before he finally turns to leave. Only he’s not getting far. There’s a hand on his own wrist, curling around his finger, effectively stopping his exit. Stopping him in his track. Dean groans. Great. And isn't that a freakin’ fantastic deja-vu? “What now?” he snaps, and this time, the annoyance isn’t an act. -- TBC Hosted by Animexx e.V. (http://www.animexx.de)