skidmo_fic: (shirtless!dean)
[personal profile] skidmo_fic
Title: Priorities
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Evan Lorne/Dean Winchester
Word Count: 1029
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me...sadly
Feedback: yes, please.
Summary: Lorne goes Wraith-hunting, and finds something else entirely.
A/N: Written for[livejournal.com profile] angelofmercy, who requested “Evan Lorne/Dean Winchester - ghost hunting on Earth (or offworld).”



Lorne still isn’t sure how he ended up here. He knows all the events that led up to it, sure. He got sent out to Wyoming to investigate a possible Wraith attack, met up with a couple of kids masquerading as FBI agents, and found himself co-opted into their hunt of something that definitely isn’t a Wraith.

But as far as how he ended up alone in his motel room, on his bed, with Dean Winchester, drinking beer and eating pizza and watching late night TV while Sam crashes in the Winchesters’ room, that he’s not quite sure of.

Dean flips through the channels, stopping on one of the motel’s many adult stations.

“This okay?” Dean asks, leaning across Lorne to grab the last slice of pizza from the box on the nightstand.

And it’s not okay, because they’ve been flirting practically since they met, and Lorne does not need this kind of complication in his life right now, and Dean smells really good, and there’s no way Lorne will be able to control himself if they start watching porn.

But of course, he has no way of saying this, so he just says, “Sure,” and takes a long sip from his bottle, trying not to focus on the heat of Dean’s shoulder next to his, or the way Dean’s hand falls next to Lorne’s thigh when he finishes the slice, or how ridiculously well-hung the guy in the porno is, or how long it’s been since he sucked someone off.

And then Dean’s touching himself, rubbing his palm lazily over his groin, and Lorne tries not to watch, tries to keep his eyes on the screen, but that’s no better, and before he has a chance to think about what he’s doing, his brain shuts off.

Except that’s not entirely accurate. His brain is still functioning. It’s yelling at him to stop, calling him an idiot, reminding him of why he doesn’t do things like this, all as he hears himself say, “Need a hand with that?” sees himself reach for Dean’s fly before Dean can answer, like he’s no longer in control of his body, like the tightness in his jeans has taken over, and he can’t even blame himself because someone else is calling the shots.

Dean murmurs, “’Bout time,” as Lorne’s fingers nimbly open his fly and pull out his cock, and Lorne only meant to give him a quick handjob, but it really has been a good long time, and whatever it is that’s taken over his body definitely wants a taste of that.

He expects Dean to watch the porno while Lorne goes down on him, maybe tangling his fingers in Lorne’s hair, maybe holding his head in place, but mostly pretending Lorne’s not there. He’s blown straight guys before. He knows how it works. But Dean turns off the television and runs his fingers slowly through Lorne’s hair, scratching his scalp lightly, moaning when Lorne sucks a little harder or presses his tongue just under the head, and Dean curses up a storm and laughs when Lorne’s fingers move back behind his balls, testing the waters, teasing at Dean’s entrance. And when the tip of one of Lorne’s fingers slips inside, Dean groans, “Fuck, Lorne,” and Lorne loses control again. (Or maybe he regains it, and all the holding back was really his loss of control.)

He pulls his mouth off and looks up at Dean, grinning wickedly. “I am going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget your name,” he says and pushes himself up to kiss Dean hard, shoving Dean’s shorts and jeans down further, trying to push them off.

He almost expects Dean to resist at this point, but Dean tugs at Lorne’s shirt, forcing him to break the kiss so he can pull it off, and his hands reach for Lorne’s jeans next, tugging at the belt, fumbling with the buttons until Lorne takes pity on him and pulls away to get them off. Dean makes quick work of the rest of his own clothes as well, and lays back, legs spread, looking wanton and beautiful, and Lorne takes a moment just to appreciate the sight, wondering if Dean would ever consent to being drawn.

Dean makes an impatient noise, drawing Lorne back. “You got any lube?”

Lorne shakes his head, and Dean chuckles. “Well, I guess that’s the good part of staying in a place like this.” He reaches for the nightstand drawer and produces a small tube of lubricant and a handful of condoms.

Lorne grins and takes a condom. “Open yourself up,” he murmurs, and Dean’s eyes are nearly black as he shifts to obey. He squeezes the lube onto his hand and pulls his legs up, pushing two fingers inside himself, grunting as he does. He’s quick and rough, and long before Lorne thinks he could possibly be stretched enough, Dean pulls his hand away and says, “Ready.”

Lorne rolls the condom on and lines up their hips, pushing into Dean.

There’s no buildup, no taking time. There’s hardly even a recognition of Dean’s face or his mouth or his voice. There’s just two bodies, moving together, thrusting, groaning. There’s a hot, hard cock in Lorne’s hand and, far too soon, there’s a body tightening around him, and a rush of pleasure and a release.

***

Dean has to leave a little while later. He doesn’t want Sam to worry.

“You always take care of him?”

Dean nods. “Since we were kids.”

Lorne watches him dress, still sore and completely relaxed, stretched out naked across the coverlet.

“Nothing’s as important as Sam,” Dean says quietly as he sits to pull on his boots. “Nothing.” And Lorne realizes that this is Dean’s way of telling him this was a one time deal. Or maybe that if they run into each other again, they can repeat it, but Dean’s never going to leave Sam, never going to put anything before keeping his brother safe.

Lorne smiles. “I know,” he says just as quietly. And he doesn’t tell Dean that nothing’s as important as Atlantis, because he doesn’t have to.

And Dean kisses him before leaving and murmurs, “See you ‘round, flyboy,” and walks out the door.

fin
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July 2012

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