New scene starring my favorite boys here. Dean meets Ben's family and enjoys a couple of days off. Thanks as always to the indispensible janissa11, who said "eeeeeee!" while she pointed out things to fix.
scenes one and two
"You have a flair for the dramatic," he says when he looks up from his paperwork to see Dean walking into the clinic, looking tired but without a scratch on him.
Dean laughs and crunches on the lollipop Patsy must have slipped him, too impatient to lick it down to a paper-thin sliver and then nothingness. Jagged little bits of key lime candy move from Dean's tongue to his.
"Good timing, right?" Dean says, finally pulling his mouth free. "Poltergeist took twenty minutes, tops."
He smiles his relief. "We still have to be up early to catch the train." He's thinking more along the lines of just staying up all night, though, now that he's been reminded of the physical reality of Dean all over again.
Dean makes a face that he should have grown out of years ago. It makes Ben absurdly happy. "We're driving."
"Fifty-fifty on the music," he bargains, and Dean seals the deal with another swipe of his candy-tinged mouth.
Dean stays a step behind and to the side of him while he pulls out his ID and claims the room his parents reserved for them. He glances over to find Dean looking positively demure, and he knows that he's definitely up to something.
Dean waves off the bellhops and leads the way to an elevator bank. The minute the doors glide shut, Dean drops the bags and is on him. "What are you doing?"
"Makin' out," Dean says, dropping teasing little kisses on his cheeks and mouth, strong hands resting casually on his hips.
He turns his head and manages to get his mouth on the underside of Dean's jaw, that sensitive hinge where stubble glitters like gold, and Dean's heavy eyelids drop to half-mast. "We're kind of in public," he murmurs into Dean's warm, clean skin.
"Smile for the camera, baby." Dean tips his head back and Ben doesn't bother looking for it, too busy marking up the inviting strength of Dean's throat.
"Ohhh," Dean exhales when he catches sight of the king-sized bed piled high with pillows and covers, dropping his bags and stripping as he heads over, leaving a trail of clothes and boots and weapons behind.
He watches Dean bare all that scarred golden skin and then fall face-first into the plush bed and tug the sheet and covers back up over himself. "What are you doing?" he asks, amused by the way Dean's snuggling sleepily into the bed, only the top of his head visible.
"Sleeeeepin'," Dean murmurs. "This bed is nice."
Dean had looked tired, had even let Ben do some of the driving on the way down, and this place has to be several distinct steps up from Dean's usual accommodations. He should let him enjoy a little luxury for once.
Ben replaces his contacts with glasses and then steps out of his own clothes to slide into the bed and fit himself against Dean, warm and just drifting off. Now he gets why Dean had called it making out; they'll get to foreplay when they wake up.
The sheets are soft and warm against his cheek, but the roughness of Dean's hands moving down his arms makes him shiver; the heat of Dean's tongue against his spine, the amulet trailing behind, makes him moan. He thrashes underneath Dean, flattening the pillows, trying to buck up and get some friction, but Dean's well-rested now and willing to spend the time to just keep playing.
"Dean," he asks, starving for Dean's soft mouth, and Dean eases him onto his back, fingers staying slick inside him, and allows himself to be tugged down for a kiss.
He holds Dean close, feeling dazed with lust, his reactions slow but bright, intense. Dean is a hazy shape above him, refusing to come clear before his dazzled eyes. "Goddamn," Dean breathes, "you -" before dropping his mouth to Ben's throat, sweaty hair teasing across Ben's cheek.
They're moving together, the pace escalating, and they can't bring themselves to stop, just keep working each other back up while the sun moves across the sky and sinks.
The room service burgers are okay, missing the sharp bite of onion both he and Dean like, but the skin-on fries are outstanding, crisp and salty and piled high on the plates. "Don't know why they haven't called," he says around a mouthful of potato. "They've been wanting to meet you."
Dean keeps eating. "What'd you tell them?"
"Nothing. Your name. That you work all over." He takes a sip of his extra-thick chocolate shake. "I told them the rest would have to wait until they met you." Dean looks at him like he'll take his cues from Ben, go along with any crazy story he chooses to tell his parents. "The thing is, I've never brought anyone home to meet them or my sister."
Dean drops his eyes. "Sammy would have been the perfect boy to introduce to your parents."
It's hard to tell who the challenge, the incipient anger, in Dean's voice is for. "They'd've liked him a whole lot," he agrees, trying to keep the recoil out of his own voice. "But Sam took off before they came back from Asia."
Dean looks up, his lips tightening. "He ran?"
His stomach clenches up all over again and he can't quite move. He is past this and Dean doesn't deserve the fallout from it.
"Sorry," Dean says.
He jumps in before Dean can say any more. "Anyway, I haven't dated a lot. One guy freshman year of college. Then Sam, and no one real after that."
Dean picks at the remaining fries and goes with the new conversation. "You're still beating me. Most I've managed before this was one whole relationship."
Ben nudges his glasses back up his nose. "What happened?"
"Fell in love, told her the truth, she ran screaming." Dean shrugs, like it's no big deal. He waits and Dean lifts his eyes. There's no regret in them. "The point is, I managed to find time to introduce her to my dad. What's your real reason?"
He smiles. "Guess I was just waiting for you to come along." Dean rolls his eyes and slurps up the rest of his shake and pulls Ben onto his lap.
It's not an unreasonable distance from the hotel to Lincoln Center, and the sharp April weather has softened for the first day of May, so they leave the car with the valet who swore he'd look after her like she was his own newborn daughter and walk. Dean looks relaxed, but his eyes are still taking in everything, and Ben realizes anew how much Dean takes on himself, how vigilant he is, has to be, outside their apartment. This is as easy-going as Dean's going to get because he knows there are too many things out there that live to cause pain.
"Thank you," he says quietly, and Dean somehow hears and smiles.
"Looking forward to it," Dean answers, looking a little shy, a little nervous, and Ben thinks he couldn't love him more.
"There," he says, pointing, his chin on Dean's shoulder as they stare down at the program. "Alto soloist for Mozart's Regina Coeli, Jaya Mahar."
"'Queen of Heaven,'" Dean translates. "That was my mother's name," he murmurs.
"Mary," he says, his voice soft, and Dean nods, fingers twitching ever so slightly.
They stand to let a blond couple squeeze by, and once they're sitting again, Dean opens his program once more, flipping the heavy cream-colored pages. "Is she not on until we get through all this other stuff?" he asks, and Ben laughs at the horror in Dean's voice.
"Just sit back and enjoy it; the hours will fly right by," he teases. He gets his lips on Dean's jaw and then pulls back, doubting his own ears. "Are you humming Metallica?"
Dean just grins at him. "Makes me happy," he says, looking frankly irresistible, but then the lights dim and the conductor comes out to sustained applause.
Dean's bearing up surprisingly well, and Ben just sits and lets the music - familiar even after the years he and Jaya have spent apart - wash over him. Dean's eyelashes are leaving thick shadows on the broad plane of his cheek; his eyes are open but unseeing. One piece even gets his fingers to move in time, betrayed by the light glinting off his ring.
When intermission finally comes, though, he can see that Dean's had more than enough. A quick kiss settles them both, and he sees his parents making their way into their row. "Hey!" he says, the tension over their whereabouts vanishing. "Where have you guys been?"
"Flight was late and couldn't catch a cab for love or money," Mom says. "We didn't miss her, did we?"
Dad's saying, "You must be Dean," and shaking Dean's hand, and Dean looks over at him.
"No, you didn't miss her," he says, feeling his grin split his face. "And yeah, this is Dean."
J had grabbed a shirt from his bag to use as a jacket, and it's one of Dean's, the flannel soft and faded. She snuggles into it and yawns. "So, Dean. How'd you end up with Monkeyface?"
"I can't believe I missed you," he grumbles.
Dean just laughs and tells the truth. "Picked him up while he stitched me up."
J raises her eyebrows like she's impressed. The waitress comes by with their food and starts setting it down. Dad eyes the peanut butter pie topped with chocolate ice cream she sets in front of Dean. "Guess you've got a sweet tooth, huh?"
"Yes, sir. Got it from my mom," Dean says, his voice light. Ben squeezes Dean's thigh and is rewarded by feeling Dean relax a little beside him. He takes a bite of the dessert, scrunching his eyes shut against the cold.
"Okay," Dean says, "now I get why she calls you Monkeyface."
J laughs her infectious laugh and soon they're all giggling, though Mom at least is trying to control herself. He scowls at each of them and steals a huge bite of pie.
"I can't believe you let me eat pie and ice cream at two in the morning," he moans, extravagantly tired and ridiculously full, and lets Dean hold him up.
"I do it all the time," Dean lies through his teeth. "Be a man."
"Hey, is this our elevator?" he asks, cracking one eye open to take in vaguely familiar paneling and gold buttons.
He steps forward to where Dean is leaning nonchalantly against the back wall and raises his hand to run it through the duck-bottom bristly softness of Dean's hair, tilt Dean's head just right for kissing. Dean opens his mouth slowly, just lets him do what he wants, and makes low, approving noises in the back of his throat.
The elevator dings and the door slides open. "Just wanna keep doing this," he murmurs.
"No one said you had to stop," Dean responds, equally soft, and they stumble down the hallway to their room, doing more kissing than walking.
Dean lays him out on the bed and pulls off his shoes, then reaches for his clothes. "This is why they loved you."
Dean gives him a quizzical look. "Cause I can get all your clothes off in 4.2 seconds?"
"Cause you take good care of me." He shouldn't have said it, should have just gone along with Dean's joke, because Dean is looking uncertain and disbelieving now, backing up a bit. But his mouth just keeps going. "Love you."
Dean relaxes like he's at last back on familiar ground. "Yeah, yeah." Dean's phone rings. "Get that, would you? I've got my hands full here."
He gropes for it briefly and picks it up, setting it on speaker accidentally and connecting the call. There's a loud, static-filled silence and Dean says, "Hello?" while he pulls off Ben's jeans.
The static sounds continue and suddenly Ben realizes that it's not static, it's someone breathing heavily, wetly, into the receiver. "Are you okay? Who is this?" Dean asks.
He hears a sob, finally, and Dean snatches up the phone lightning-quick. "Sammy?"
Goddamn, I love my OTP!