Wait for Danger
Title: Wait for Danger
Fandom: Heroes/Supernatural crossover, companion piece for brighteyed_jill's The Secret's in the Telling, works as a stand-alone if you just want some Dean/Peter smut.
Pairing: Dean/Peter, Sam/Dean and Nathan/Peter implied
Rating: NC-17 for sex and violence.
Warnings Dom/sub and S&M-type situations. Knife play.
Spoilers: Supernatural through 4x10 "Heaven and Hell," vague Season 2 spoilers for Heroes
Timeframe: Vaguely Season 4 for Supernatural, very, very vaguely Season 2 for Heroes, partial AU
Word Count: 4,097
Summary: Peter meets up with Dean in a bar, and he has it bad for what only Dean can give him...
Thanks to brighteyed_jillfor betaing and color correction.
"Hey stranger, come here often?"
Dean nearly choked on a mouthful of beer at the voice behind him. A line like that should have come from a bleached-blonde waitress with a great rack and tight, low-cut top, someone with plenty of experience and too much bubble-gum lip gloss, probably named Cherry or Candy. Dean had been through that dance too many times to count.
But the voice behind him, while slightly sultry and full of promise, was decidedly masculine in tone. Dean whirled, swallowing his beer, to come face-to-face with Peter Petrelli.
"Peter, you son of a bitch, how the hell are you?" Dean said, breaking into a grin. He got up to pull Peter into a brief embrace before ordering him a beer and sitting them both down.
He hadn't seen Peter for three months. It had been over a year since they'd tackled that demon together, and occasionally the four brothers' paths still crossed. Dean would, admitting nothing, try to find a job in an area if he knew the Petrellis were there, even if they never went after the same prey. It was just good to know there were other people out there who understood them, the peculiar quirks of the Winchester brothers.
Not to mention that crossing paths with the Petrellis meant at least one night of guilt-free fun.
"Hell," Dean said suddenly, as something occurred to him, "that's why Sam wanted to do his research in this town."
Apparently he wasn't the only one to enjoy the Petrellis' company. Sam had insisted on doing the research in the college library, and had forged himself credentials to get access to the stacks late at night. At a college town during finals week, he'd barely be noticed. And then he'd told Dean not to wait up for him.
In retrospect, he probably should have guessed.
Peter only smiled at Dean’s comment. “Didn’t tell you either? I figured it out when Nathan stopped to make dinner reservations at a place he knows I won’t eat. Then he gave me a hundred bucks and told me to get lost.”
“Blew you off, huh?” Dean asked meditatively.
“That too, but only because he was feeling guilty,” Peter said with a smirk.
Dean swallowed a bigger mouthful of beer than he had intended and sputtered, trying not to choke again. Peter sure wasn’t wasting time tonight. Not that they ever really did, but...
“Well hey, more for me then,” Dean said cheerfully.
“What do you think they’re doing now?” Peter asked, almost sounding wistful. However, he had a particular leering gleam in his eye that Dean had grown very familiar with.
Little bitch is a tease tonight... Dean thought, eyes narrowing in predatory speculation. But there’d be time for that shortly.
“Probably eating snails and pancreas before going to a poetry reading or something. I asked Sam to tell me once and nearly fell asleep after the third word,” Dean said honestly, taking another swig. Peter followed suit, lips sliding further down the neck of the bottle than was strictly necessary. Dean nodded his head in slight approval as Peter snickered at his description of Sam and Nathan’s date.
“I think it was a string quartet, but yeah, you’re probably right. Anyway, since I was alone, I thought I’d go to the worst bar in town.”
“Hey, this place is awesome!” Dean protested. Good rock music, good beer, lots of bikers and babes, pool table, and two fights already tonight. So what if Micky’s had maybe two forty watt bulbs for lighting, and chairs that were stuck to the floor with so much old beer and tobacco juice that they might as well have been welded there? You couldn’t get this kind of atmosphere in a “better” bar.
“I just wanted to see who I could find,” Peter finished, his voice going soft. Dean played it casual, leaning back in his chair.
“See anyone?” he asked with feigned calm.
Underneath the facade, Dean was growling in anticipation. He loved Sam, loved him more than anything, probably way the hell more than he should. But Peter was... a friend. He wasn’t one of the endless one-night stands Dean usually picked up in places like this, nor was he another burdened and tortured hunter with his own similar griefs to share. Peter had his own share of problems, but they were totally different from Dean’s.
They weren’t in this to weep on each other’s shoulders. They were in this to give each other a release, a way out, to do something fun without the baggage from their brothers. And if it was just a touch more personal than a recurring one-night stand, then... well... that was ok too. Because Dean knew what Peter needed by now, and Peter was ready to give it. And tonight, he wasn’t wasting any time pushing Dean’s buttons.
“That guy, by the pool table,” Peter said, nodding in the direction of a tall, burly biker dressed all in leather, his face scarred and his hair in greasy tangles. He had one tattoo on his hand of a skull, and another on his neck that said “Bad to the Bone.”
Peter, Dean gathered, seriously had it bad tonight.
“No way. He wouldn’t know how to handle you,” Dean said, finishing off his beer and leaning forward, glaring at Peter. Peter pretended not to notice and kept surveying the crowd as he continued drinking.
“I’m not being handled right now,” he said nonchalantly. “And my beer’s almost gone. Maybe he can buy me another.”
Hell with this, Dean thought. He was pretty sure what he could get away with at this point with Peter. “I bought you that beer, bitch,” Dean growled, his voice pitched low. “So finish it up, because you’re coming with me.”
Peter’s eyes snapped back to Dean like a magnet, and he finished the half-bottle of beer in a single long swallow. Dean felt his temperature spike a few degrees.
“Now,” Dean snapped, rising. With satisfying docility, Peter fell in step behind him as he left the table, and Dean sighed silently in satisfaction. Peter’s acquiescence to his demands was a rare and precious liquor that Dean didn’t often get a chance to taste. And tonight Dean intended to drink it to the dregs.
The things I’m going to do to you Petrelli... Dean smiled as the exited the bar.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter followed right along behind Dean, knees going to jelly at Dean’s thoughts. The Petrellis had been working hard these last few months, finding and helping those with abilities who needed help, and doing what they could to minimize the damage of those who needed to be stopped. And their version of help didn’t involve putting specials into their own personal Gitmo like the Company did.
Needless to say, the work was exhausting. All that time, Peter had had to be strong to stand beside Nathan. He’d welcomed Nathan’s tenderness, their utter familiarity and surety with each other. Their shared pleasure was pure comfort, their only strength against their loneliness. But Peter had other inner demons that needed soothing, by now he was aching for someone to push him to an edge that Nathan wouldn’t go near.
Tonight he’d never been so glad to see Dean Winchester in his life. It was like having an affair without the consequences.
Dean kept up a brisk walk until they were several blocks from the bar before heading down a dark alley. He looked around quickly, determined that no crackheads, winos, or thieves had made it their home, and ducked behind a dumpster. Dean put his hands on Peter’s shoulders, but Peter was already sinking to his knees.
“Reading my mind again?” Dean asked in amusement, his hand tangling in Peter’s hair.
Peter nodded slowly, hearing Dean’s thoughts loud and clear.
So damn hard Peter. Take it out and start sucking.
Peter mentally gibbered, his hands fumbling with Dean’s belt and zipper, all dexterity temporarily gone. Finally getting them open, he roughly palmed Dean’s hard erection through the thin material of his boxers. Despite all that Peter could do, Nathan didn’t often take advantage of Peter’s powers during sex. Having Dean be willing to open his thoughts, to use them to gain the upper hand, was incredibly erotic.
------------------------------------
Peter tucked his hand a little further, stroking deeper and hard than was Nathan’s usual wont, urged on by the stray thought he’d heard for “more.” He didn’t often read Nathan’s thoughts, partly because it was usually unnecessary, and also for Nathan’s own privacy. But when they arrived so loud and urgent, it was impossible to tune them out.
“Dammit Pete,” Nathan swore, squirming away. He stroked his hand down Peter’s back in an exaggeratedly gentle manner. “Ease up, I’m still recovering from this morning.”
Peter bit his lip in embarrassment, and Nathan leaned forward to catch it in a tender, teasing kiss. “Not all of us are indestructible you know.”
---------------------------------------
Dean’s hand tightened hard in Peter’s hair as he continued to stroke Dean’s cock through his underwear. Hey, I didn’t say just rub it Peter. The thought was sharp, and Peter gasped a little as he forced his hands to action, freeing Dean from the cotton confines of his boxers. The silky smoothness, high heat, and tight hardness twitched slightly in his hand as he lowered his lips to the purple head.
Peter sharply inhaled the scent of Dean’s precum, and then sucked in another desperate breath as Dean pushed forward, burying himself in Peter’s throat. Groaning, Peter forced his throat to relax as much as possible, sliding one hand down Dean’s boxers to clutch at the naked muscle of his ass. Tears stung his eyes as he tried to quiet his gag reflex, taking another quick breath as Dean pulled back, setting up a slow, thrusting rhythm down Peter’s throat.
Peter curled his tongue around Dean’s erection, caressing the underside, making a vacuum with his throat, easing his chin up to make it easy for Dean to penetrate as far as he wanted. His hands grabbed reflexively at Dean’s ass, kneading the smooth and strangely scar-free skin.
Dean never told him what happened to him, why he and Sam had dropped off the grid for a good four months, not even when they’d met up three months ago, right after they’d reappeared. Dean had been ninety-five percent scar-free and oddly reverent, right until Peter had teased him into a better temper.
-----------------------------
“Fuck Peter, you want to do this or what?” Dean growled, as Peter’s teasing, tickling caresses had frayed his temper to the snapping point.
“Maybe...” Peter has responded, smirking, making a swirling motion with one finger around Dean’s urgent erection.
Dean growled and flipped them over, his weight bearing Peter down, down... “This is what I need. Take it.”
--------------------------------
Peter swallowed hard around Dean’s cock, throat muscles rippling, and Dean’s hand tightened further on his hair, riding the edge of real pain. Dean’s thoughts were potent and hard-edged, hammering into his brain.
Want to take it all, want me to force it down, shoot it down your throat and half-choke you? Want to try to breathe with me cumming in you, skull-fucking you? Want to try to drain me dry, knees ripping out of your jeans, bloody skin on the concrete, desperate for relief, knowing you’ll only get it if you can finish me off?
Peter knew he was sucking harder, not even needing Dean’s hand on his hair to keep up the pace, feeling saliva leaking out of the corner of his mouth. Other thoughts echoed strangely in his mind, lacking the more focused edge that meant Dean was thinking straight at him.
There were people like you there, on the rack, so many of them. Hurt them so bad, ripped them open, sliced, carved, made them beg for death. Broke them, broke me. Can’t do it to Sam, won’t do it to Sam. Inside me, screaming, want to hurt, want to see him hurt. So pretty...
Peter gasped around Dean, and looked up, seeing Dean’s eyes, the brief, haunting expression in them.
“You... caught that?” Dean asked, sighing under Peter’s ministrations.
Peter could only nod a tiny bit, still sucking, caressing. Was it horrible that Peter’s heart was starting to pound, that Dean’s cock had begun to throb faster at those violent thoughts?
I was in Hell.
The thought was steel-sharp and hard as a punch to the gut.
I want to hurt you.
Peter gulped hard around Dean’s cock, letting it deeper down his throat.
I want to force you down, spread you open, split you in two. Make you beg.
Peter’s own erection was painful at this point, throbbing against the confines of his jeans.
Jesus Peter, I want to tie you up, cut you, make you scream...
Dean arched, his cock swelling, as Peter made irresistible suction with his mouth. Pressing into Peter’s face, he came hard, shooting endlessly down Peter’s throat. Peter swallowed everything he could, vision blacking momentarily before Dean pulled away. Gasping for air, Peter remained on his knees as Dean zipped himself up and dropped to his heels.
“You ok?” Dean asked, sounding breathless and almost contrite.
Peter looked at him with appeal, begging with his eyes, the kind of expression that made Nathan stomp off to the bathroom and lock himself in.
Dean grabbed him by the front of the jacket and pulled him into a savage kiss.
“You want this bad, bitch,” Dean said, dragging him to his feet. Peter staggered, knees healing from where he’d rubbed them raw, breathing ragged and cock desperate for relief. Dean noticed the bulge in Peter’s pants and smirked.
“I-,” Peter started, but Dean’s stray thought stopped him in his tracks.
Gotta get this out of my system... Something in Dean needed to do this, as much or more as Peter needed to have it done to him. Here was someone who didn’t think he was sick for needing what he did. Here was someone whose need fit his like a hand in a glove. Here was someone who he could actually help by offering himself the way he wanted to, a lamb to the slaughter.
“Where?” he asked instead.
Dean jerked his head, and Peter followed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean had a sixth sense about where to find a no-questions-asked motel, and The Waterfall Motel was definitely one of those places. They were still twenty miles from Niagara Falls, but that didn’t stop someone from trying to cash in on the theme. This one had the prerequisite aerial shots of the Falls on the walls, blue wallpaper, and an aquatic print on the bedspread.
It was also a local hot spot for the working girls, and a quick tap on the walls showed that the slightly higher-than-average prices paid for soundproof walls.
Which was good for what Dean wanted from Peter tonight.
------------------------
Sam snickered as the cops on screen broke into the suspect’s apartment, only to be confronted by Incomprehensible Horror. Which might be more horrible if the lightning on the show wasn’t done by a refrigerator bulb.
“They’re never going to get this guy in court. They’re contaminating the evidence.” Sam snorted a bit and went to get the microwave popcorn. Dean knew Sam liked to watch the cop shows just to have fun tearing them apart. Dean liked them just for the hot female cops.
And for the fact the suspect’s victims were supposed to be-. Dean caught himself leaning forward to look at the dim Horrible Evidence on the screen. He felt something stir in him, hungry and curious. A faint chorus of screams echoed in a locked corner of his mind.
When Sam came back, Dean had switched over to the Pistons/Suns game.
“You hate Phoenix,” Sam grumbled.
Dean only grunted noncommittally and kept a hold of the remote.
---------------------------------------
Peter was the one to chain and deadbolt the door, but Dean pulled him back and yanked off his jacket almost before he was done.
“On the bed,” Dean growled, pulling at Peter’s collar. Buttons popped and Peter frantically helped him, clearly desperate to feel Dean’s calloused hands on his naked skin. Dean maneuvered them both backwards, clothes being stripped off with each step, shoes flying, jeans crumpling to the floor, shirts and jackets going to either side of the bed.
The edge of the bed took Peter’s knees out from under him, and he fell backwards, bouncing hard on the mattress. Dean was on top of him in an instant, crouched over him like a tiger, going for his throat, kissing, sucking, and biting.
Peter moaned, eyes fluttering shut, muscles going slack. Dean grabbed his nerveless arms and pinned them above his head, hard. Their bodies arched together, bringing Peter’s weeping cock into hard contact with Dean’s newly-erect one. Gasping, Peter thrust, rubbing them together with delightful friction. Shuddering pleasantly, Dean nabbed the closest piece of cloth and twined the sleeve of his shirt around Peter’s wrists before tying them tight, and knotted the other sleeve to the headboard. Peter tested them once before letting his hands go slack again.
Dean was growling deep in his throat, feeling darker and more dangerous than he ever had before. He hadn’t told Sam what he’d done in Hell, and he wouldn’t tell Peter either, but if he didn’t get some of it out, he was going to go crazy. He saw it behind his eyes all too often.
“I’m... safe,” Peter breathed, hips twitching, and Dean hissed at the feeling. “Can’t hurt me.”
But I want to, Dean thought loudly. Peter moaned in response, opening his legs, laying himself out, completely open. Dean nearly snapped at that display of submission. He dove for his clothes, pulling the lube from his jacket pocket, and something else from his belt. The latter he laid on the bed, and the former he spread on his fingers.
Then he forced Peter’s legs up, exposing his opening, and twisted his fingers inside Peter roughly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter groaned as his legs almost creaked, calling up a momentary ache as his back arched to give Dean the access he needed. He hadn’t felt so open, helpless, in a long time, and his long-delayed orgasm took him by surprise, splattering over his thighs in a shocking explosion of painful bliss.
“I’m not done with you,” Dean said, his voice low and ragged. His fingers twisted hard into Peter, their slickness not mitigating the burn from his rough treatment. “I didn’t say you could cum.”
Want to hear you beg for it, came Dean’s thought, red and black in reigned-back rage.
“Sorry,” Peter breathed, and his voice hitched as Dean’s fingers twisted again. He’d never seen Dean this pissed-off unless he’d been hunting. The slightly playful mood at the bar had been obliterated under the weight of his need. Peter concentrated hard, remembering a few tricks Matt Parkman had taught him, and put a thought into Dean’s head.
You can hurt me. You need it. I want it.
Dean nearly jumped off the bed, he was so startled, and Peter realized, a little too late, that Dean didn’t know about that aspect of his telepathy.
“Uh... sorry,” Peter said again, and Dean’s lips twitched in a bit of humorous self-deprecation.
--------------------------
“Dammit Pete, don’t spring that kind of thing on me!” Nathan said in annoyance, eyeing the chocolate bar Peter had just melted with suspicion.
“I thought it would be fun,” Peter said, his smile as innocent as sin. Languidly he poured a ribbon of the melted chocolate from the coffee cup onto Nathan’s naked chest, following it up with a hungry, loving tongue.
Nathan groaned and arched ever-so-slightly into Peter’s mouth, and Peter knew he had been forgiven this time.
----------------------------
Dean leaned forward again, his fingers entering Peter more languidly now, his stroking shallow, teasing, and enjoyed watching Peter come back to full hardness. His chest heaved as Dean withdrew his hand, grabbed for a condom, rolled it on, and then slammed into him. There was no hesitation, just a hard and fast stab into him, and Dean was gratified to see Peter’s cock leap to attention. Tight, hot, close, so easy to take...
“Yeah,” Peter breathed, head rolled back to the headboard. The long, pale line of his throat was open, vulnerable, and Dean couldn’t stand it anymore. He reached down and grabbed the other thing on the bed, what he’d taken from his belt. Leaning forward, screams echoing in his mind, he brought the hunting knife up into Peter’s line of sight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter’s eyes got huge when he saw the blade, less from Dean having it, and more from the absolute darkness in Dean’s eyes. Then Dean thrust into him again, and Peter gasped. Shuddering, cock twitching, Peter stretched up and kissed the blade, running his tongue along the length.
So damn hot Peter, came Dean’s deliberate thought, along with the less-focused, cut him, see him bleed. Sweet cuts...
Peter simply lay back, ready, skin tingling in anticipation, ready to take anything Dean wanted to give him. Open. Willing.
He tried not to jump when Dean made a shallow cut over his right nipple, gasping when Dean’s tongue followed the line of the healing cut. Then under it, then right through it, sucking the pain away as it healed, teasing the tiny peak to hardness. Again, other side, then the breastbone, both clavicles, shallow, almost artistically delicate cuts, painful stinging becoming the adrenaline song of healing.
Then lower, Dean pulling out of him to nick along his ribs, slice arcs in the hollow of his hips, and make elegant cuts on his inner thighs. Peter felt like he was scarcely getting air, his skin doubly sensitive from all the healing, the touch of the warming metal blade, and the feel of Dean’s breath on his skin. All he was hearing from Dean’s mind was darkness and chaos, but he laid still and accepted it, took it in, let him do what he wanted.
Peter’s eyes got huge when Dean leaned over him again, the blade this time coming to lie across Peter’s throat. Danger, danger! all his senses screamed to him, seeing the rising heat and fury in Dean’s face. Red alert! But Peter laid there, dick throbbing with the need to release, more turned on than he ever had been in his life, begging Dean with his eyes.
Dean pressed one palm into Peter’s bound hands, crushing them to the bed, and savagely thrust himself into him, making Peter’s neck scrape lightly across the blade.
“I can do whatever I want,” Dean said darkly, his hips moving in savage rhythm. Peter’s mouth fell open, and he pushed the thought hard at Dean, Yes, yes! This is what he needed from Dean. He would let him do anything. At this moment, he would submit to anything Dean asked.
The knife dug in hard, and Peter desperately willed himself not to cum yet. Red alert, red alert! Had to wait for Dean, had to wait for danger...
But not this time. Fuck you, Alistair, came Dean’s incomprehensible thought. With that, Dean threw the knife away hard enough for it to imbed in the wall, and fell on Peter’s mouth like a starving animal.
“Cum, come on,” Dean gasped through the frantic kisses, arcing into Peter’s body, spurting hard and deep into his ass. Peter screamed into Dean’s mouth, his cock feeling like the end had come off, he came so hard, pressed hard between them, pulsing and pulsing until he fell back into the embrace of the aquatic-patterned comforter.
Dean stayed in him until his breathing had gone back nearly to normal, before rolling off of Peter. Peter flexed his hands as Dean untied them, a slightly peculiar smile on his face. Dean wasn’t thinking so hard anymore, and Peter didn’t go fishing for thoughts. He definitely didn’t need to. The darkness in Dean was back to normal levels.
“Nice,” Dean said, eying Peter’s unmarked torso, his eyebrows arching lasciviously. The mask of the irrepressible cock-of-the-walk Dean was back, and Peter knew that was what Dean wanted right now. He wasn’t Nathan, that he could ask him about what he’d overheard and expect to be answered, at least not yet.
Peter snickered as he sat up, stretching a little to loosen clenched muscles. If Dean wanted to go back to playing that game, then Peter was more than up for it. There would be other times, if Dean ever wanted to tell him anything.
“So,” Peter asked innocently. “How about another beer?”
Fandom: Heroes/Supernatural crossover, companion piece for brighteyed_jill's The Secret's in the Telling, works as a stand-alone if you just want some Dean/Peter smut.
Pairing: Dean/Peter, Sam/Dean and Nathan/Peter implied
Rating: NC-17 for sex and violence.
Warnings Dom/sub and S&M-type situations. Knife play.
Spoilers: Supernatural through 4x10 "Heaven and Hell," vague Season 2 spoilers for Heroes
Timeframe: Vaguely Season 4 for Supernatural, very, very vaguely Season 2 for Heroes, partial AU
Word Count: 4,097
Summary: Peter meets up with Dean in a bar, and he has it bad for what only Dean can give him...
Thanks to brighteyed_jillfor betaing and color correction.
"Hey stranger, come here often?"
Dean nearly choked on a mouthful of beer at the voice behind him. A line like that should have come from a bleached-blonde waitress with a great rack and tight, low-cut top, someone with plenty of experience and too much bubble-gum lip gloss, probably named Cherry or Candy. Dean had been through that dance too many times to count.
But the voice behind him, while slightly sultry and full of promise, was decidedly masculine in tone. Dean whirled, swallowing his beer, to come face-to-face with Peter Petrelli.
"Peter, you son of a bitch, how the hell are you?" Dean said, breaking into a grin. He got up to pull Peter into a brief embrace before ordering him a beer and sitting them both down.
He hadn't seen Peter for three months. It had been over a year since they'd tackled that demon together, and occasionally the four brothers' paths still crossed. Dean would, admitting nothing, try to find a job in an area if he knew the Petrellis were there, even if they never went after the same prey. It was just good to know there were other people out there who understood them, the peculiar quirks of the Winchester brothers.
Not to mention that crossing paths with the Petrellis meant at least one night of guilt-free fun.
"Hell," Dean said suddenly, as something occurred to him, "that's why Sam wanted to do his research in this town."
Apparently he wasn't the only one to enjoy the Petrellis' company. Sam had insisted on doing the research in the college library, and had forged himself credentials to get access to the stacks late at night. At a college town during finals week, he'd barely be noticed. And then he'd told Dean not to wait up for him.
In retrospect, he probably should have guessed.
Peter only smiled at Dean’s comment. “Didn’t tell you either? I figured it out when Nathan stopped to make dinner reservations at a place he knows I won’t eat. Then he gave me a hundred bucks and told me to get lost.”
“Blew you off, huh?” Dean asked meditatively.
“That too, but only because he was feeling guilty,” Peter said with a smirk.
Dean swallowed a bigger mouthful of beer than he had intended and sputtered, trying not to choke again. Peter sure wasn’t wasting time tonight. Not that they ever really did, but...
“Well hey, more for me then,” Dean said cheerfully.
“What do you think they’re doing now?” Peter asked, almost sounding wistful. However, he had a particular leering gleam in his eye that Dean had grown very familiar with.
Little bitch is a tease tonight... Dean thought, eyes narrowing in predatory speculation. But there’d be time for that shortly.
“Probably eating snails and pancreas before going to a poetry reading or something. I asked Sam to tell me once and nearly fell asleep after the third word,” Dean said honestly, taking another swig. Peter followed suit, lips sliding further down the neck of the bottle than was strictly necessary. Dean nodded his head in slight approval as Peter snickered at his description of Sam and Nathan’s date.
“I think it was a string quartet, but yeah, you’re probably right. Anyway, since I was alone, I thought I’d go to the worst bar in town.”
“Hey, this place is awesome!” Dean protested. Good rock music, good beer, lots of bikers and babes, pool table, and two fights already tonight. So what if Micky’s had maybe two forty watt bulbs for lighting, and chairs that were stuck to the floor with so much old beer and tobacco juice that they might as well have been welded there? You couldn’t get this kind of atmosphere in a “better” bar.
“I just wanted to see who I could find,” Peter finished, his voice going soft. Dean played it casual, leaning back in his chair.
“See anyone?” he asked with feigned calm.
Underneath the facade, Dean was growling in anticipation. He loved Sam, loved him more than anything, probably way the hell more than he should. But Peter was... a friend. He wasn’t one of the endless one-night stands Dean usually picked up in places like this, nor was he another burdened and tortured hunter with his own similar griefs to share. Peter had his own share of problems, but they were totally different from Dean’s.
They weren’t in this to weep on each other’s shoulders. They were in this to give each other a release, a way out, to do something fun without the baggage from their brothers. And if it was just a touch more personal than a recurring one-night stand, then... well... that was ok too. Because Dean knew what Peter needed by now, and Peter was ready to give it. And tonight, he wasn’t wasting any time pushing Dean’s buttons.
“That guy, by the pool table,” Peter said, nodding in the direction of a tall, burly biker dressed all in leather, his face scarred and his hair in greasy tangles. He had one tattoo on his hand of a skull, and another on his neck that said “Bad to the Bone.”
Peter, Dean gathered, seriously had it bad tonight.
“No way. He wouldn’t know how to handle you,” Dean said, finishing off his beer and leaning forward, glaring at Peter. Peter pretended not to notice and kept surveying the crowd as he continued drinking.
“I’m not being handled right now,” he said nonchalantly. “And my beer’s almost gone. Maybe he can buy me another.”
Hell with this, Dean thought. He was pretty sure what he could get away with at this point with Peter. “I bought you that beer, bitch,” Dean growled, his voice pitched low. “So finish it up, because you’re coming with me.”
Peter’s eyes snapped back to Dean like a magnet, and he finished the half-bottle of beer in a single long swallow. Dean felt his temperature spike a few degrees.
“Now,” Dean snapped, rising. With satisfying docility, Peter fell in step behind him as he left the table, and Dean sighed silently in satisfaction. Peter’s acquiescence to his demands was a rare and precious liquor that Dean didn’t often get a chance to taste. And tonight Dean intended to drink it to the dregs.
The things I’m going to do to you Petrelli... Dean smiled as the exited the bar.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter followed right along behind Dean, knees going to jelly at Dean’s thoughts. The Petrellis had been working hard these last few months, finding and helping those with abilities who needed help, and doing what they could to minimize the damage of those who needed to be stopped. And their version of help didn’t involve putting specials into their own personal Gitmo like the Company did.
Needless to say, the work was exhausting. All that time, Peter had had to be strong to stand beside Nathan. He’d welcomed Nathan’s tenderness, their utter familiarity and surety with each other. Their shared pleasure was pure comfort, their only strength against their loneliness. But Peter had other inner demons that needed soothing, by now he was aching for someone to push him to an edge that Nathan wouldn’t go near.
Tonight he’d never been so glad to see Dean Winchester in his life. It was like having an affair without the consequences.
Dean kept up a brisk walk until they were several blocks from the bar before heading down a dark alley. He looked around quickly, determined that no crackheads, winos, or thieves had made it their home, and ducked behind a dumpster. Dean put his hands on Peter’s shoulders, but Peter was already sinking to his knees.
“Reading my mind again?” Dean asked in amusement, his hand tangling in Peter’s hair.
Peter nodded slowly, hearing Dean’s thoughts loud and clear.
So damn hard Peter. Take it out and start sucking.
Peter mentally gibbered, his hands fumbling with Dean’s belt and zipper, all dexterity temporarily gone. Finally getting them open, he roughly palmed Dean’s hard erection through the thin material of his boxers. Despite all that Peter could do, Nathan didn’t often take advantage of Peter’s powers during sex. Having Dean be willing to open his thoughts, to use them to gain the upper hand, was incredibly erotic.
------------------------------------
Peter tucked his hand a little further, stroking deeper and hard than was Nathan’s usual wont, urged on by the stray thought he’d heard for “more.” He didn’t often read Nathan’s thoughts, partly because it was usually unnecessary, and also for Nathan’s own privacy. But when they arrived so loud and urgent, it was impossible to tune them out.
“Dammit Pete,” Nathan swore, squirming away. He stroked his hand down Peter’s back in an exaggeratedly gentle manner. “Ease up, I’m still recovering from this morning.”
Peter bit his lip in embarrassment, and Nathan leaned forward to catch it in a tender, teasing kiss. “Not all of us are indestructible you know.”
---------------------------------------
Dean’s hand tightened hard in Peter’s hair as he continued to stroke Dean’s cock through his underwear. Hey, I didn’t say just rub it Peter. The thought was sharp, and Peter gasped a little as he forced his hands to action, freeing Dean from the cotton confines of his boxers. The silky smoothness, high heat, and tight hardness twitched slightly in his hand as he lowered his lips to the purple head.
Peter sharply inhaled the scent of Dean’s precum, and then sucked in another desperate breath as Dean pushed forward, burying himself in Peter’s throat. Groaning, Peter forced his throat to relax as much as possible, sliding one hand down Dean’s boxers to clutch at the naked muscle of his ass. Tears stung his eyes as he tried to quiet his gag reflex, taking another quick breath as Dean pulled back, setting up a slow, thrusting rhythm down Peter’s throat.
Peter curled his tongue around Dean’s erection, caressing the underside, making a vacuum with his throat, easing his chin up to make it easy for Dean to penetrate as far as he wanted. His hands grabbed reflexively at Dean’s ass, kneading the smooth and strangely scar-free skin.
Dean never told him what happened to him, why he and Sam had dropped off the grid for a good four months, not even when they’d met up three months ago, right after they’d reappeared. Dean had been ninety-five percent scar-free and oddly reverent, right until Peter had teased him into a better temper.
-----------------------------
“Fuck Peter, you want to do this or what?” Dean growled, as Peter’s teasing, tickling caresses had frayed his temper to the snapping point.
“Maybe...” Peter has responded, smirking, making a swirling motion with one finger around Dean’s urgent erection.
Dean growled and flipped them over, his weight bearing Peter down, down... “This is what I need. Take it.”
--------------------------------
Peter swallowed hard around Dean’s cock, throat muscles rippling, and Dean’s hand tightened further on his hair, riding the edge of real pain. Dean’s thoughts were potent and hard-edged, hammering into his brain.
Want to take it all, want me to force it down, shoot it down your throat and half-choke you? Want to try to breathe with me cumming in you, skull-fucking you? Want to try to drain me dry, knees ripping out of your jeans, bloody skin on the concrete, desperate for relief, knowing you’ll only get it if you can finish me off?
Peter knew he was sucking harder, not even needing Dean’s hand on his hair to keep up the pace, feeling saliva leaking out of the corner of his mouth. Other thoughts echoed strangely in his mind, lacking the more focused edge that meant Dean was thinking straight at him.
There were people like you there, on the rack, so many of them. Hurt them so bad, ripped them open, sliced, carved, made them beg for death. Broke them, broke me. Can’t do it to Sam, won’t do it to Sam. Inside me, screaming, want to hurt, want to see him hurt. So pretty...
Peter gasped around Dean, and looked up, seeing Dean’s eyes, the brief, haunting expression in them.
“You... caught that?” Dean asked, sighing under Peter’s ministrations.
Peter could only nod a tiny bit, still sucking, caressing. Was it horrible that Peter’s heart was starting to pound, that Dean’s cock had begun to throb faster at those violent thoughts?
I was in Hell.
The thought was steel-sharp and hard as a punch to the gut.
I want to hurt you.
Peter gulped hard around Dean’s cock, letting it deeper down his throat.
I want to force you down, spread you open, split you in two. Make you beg.
Peter’s own erection was painful at this point, throbbing against the confines of his jeans.
Jesus Peter, I want to tie you up, cut you, make you scream...
Dean arched, his cock swelling, as Peter made irresistible suction with his mouth. Pressing into Peter’s face, he came hard, shooting endlessly down Peter’s throat. Peter swallowed everything he could, vision blacking momentarily before Dean pulled away. Gasping for air, Peter remained on his knees as Dean zipped himself up and dropped to his heels.
“You ok?” Dean asked, sounding breathless and almost contrite.
Peter looked at him with appeal, begging with his eyes, the kind of expression that made Nathan stomp off to the bathroom and lock himself in.
Dean grabbed him by the front of the jacket and pulled him into a savage kiss.
“You want this bad, bitch,” Dean said, dragging him to his feet. Peter staggered, knees healing from where he’d rubbed them raw, breathing ragged and cock desperate for relief. Dean noticed the bulge in Peter’s pants and smirked.
“I-,” Peter started, but Dean’s stray thought stopped him in his tracks.
Gotta get this out of my system... Something in Dean needed to do this, as much or more as Peter needed to have it done to him. Here was someone who didn’t think he was sick for needing what he did. Here was someone whose need fit his like a hand in a glove. Here was someone who he could actually help by offering himself the way he wanted to, a lamb to the slaughter.
“Where?” he asked instead.
Dean jerked his head, and Peter followed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean had a sixth sense about where to find a no-questions-asked motel, and The Waterfall Motel was definitely one of those places. They were still twenty miles from Niagara Falls, but that didn’t stop someone from trying to cash in on the theme. This one had the prerequisite aerial shots of the Falls on the walls, blue wallpaper, and an aquatic print on the bedspread.
It was also a local hot spot for the working girls, and a quick tap on the walls showed that the slightly higher-than-average prices paid for soundproof walls.
Which was good for what Dean wanted from Peter tonight.
------------------------
Sam snickered as the cops on screen broke into the suspect’s apartment, only to be confronted by Incomprehensible Horror. Which might be more horrible if the lightning on the show wasn’t done by a refrigerator bulb.
“They’re never going to get this guy in court. They’re contaminating the evidence.” Sam snorted a bit and went to get the microwave popcorn. Dean knew Sam liked to watch the cop shows just to have fun tearing them apart. Dean liked them just for the hot female cops.
And for the fact the suspect’s victims were supposed to be-. Dean caught himself leaning forward to look at the dim Horrible Evidence on the screen. He felt something stir in him, hungry and curious. A faint chorus of screams echoed in a locked corner of his mind.
When Sam came back, Dean had switched over to the Pistons/Suns game.
“You hate Phoenix,” Sam grumbled.
Dean only grunted noncommittally and kept a hold of the remote.
---------------------------------------
Peter was the one to chain and deadbolt the door, but Dean pulled him back and yanked off his jacket almost before he was done.
“On the bed,” Dean growled, pulling at Peter’s collar. Buttons popped and Peter frantically helped him, clearly desperate to feel Dean’s calloused hands on his naked skin. Dean maneuvered them both backwards, clothes being stripped off with each step, shoes flying, jeans crumpling to the floor, shirts and jackets going to either side of the bed.
The edge of the bed took Peter’s knees out from under him, and he fell backwards, bouncing hard on the mattress. Dean was on top of him in an instant, crouched over him like a tiger, going for his throat, kissing, sucking, and biting.
Peter moaned, eyes fluttering shut, muscles going slack. Dean grabbed his nerveless arms and pinned them above his head, hard. Their bodies arched together, bringing Peter’s weeping cock into hard contact with Dean’s newly-erect one. Gasping, Peter thrust, rubbing them together with delightful friction. Shuddering pleasantly, Dean nabbed the closest piece of cloth and twined the sleeve of his shirt around Peter’s wrists before tying them tight, and knotted the other sleeve to the headboard. Peter tested them once before letting his hands go slack again.
Dean was growling deep in his throat, feeling darker and more dangerous than he ever had before. He hadn’t told Sam what he’d done in Hell, and he wouldn’t tell Peter either, but if he didn’t get some of it out, he was going to go crazy. He saw it behind his eyes all too often.
“I’m... safe,” Peter breathed, hips twitching, and Dean hissed at the feeling. “Can’t hurt me.”
But I want to, Dean thought loudly. Peter moaned in response, opening his legs, laying himself out, completely open. Dean nearly snapped at that display of submission. He dove for his clothes, pulling the lube from his jacket pocket, and something else from his belt. The latter he laid on the bed, and the former he spread on his fingers.
Then he forced Peter’s legs up, exposing his opening, and twisted his fingers inside Peter roughly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter groaned as his legs almost creaked, calling up a momentary ache as his back arched to give Dean the access he needed. He hadn’t felt so open, helpless, in a long time, and his long-delayed orgasm took him by surprise, splattering over his thighs in a shocking explosion of painful bliss.
“I’m not done with you,” Dean said, his voice low and ragged. His fingers twisted hard into Peter, their slickness not mitigating the burn from his rough treatment. “I didn’t say you could cum.”
Want to hear you beg for it, came Dean’s thought, red and black in reigned-back rage.
“Sorry,” Peter breathed, and his voice hitched as Dean’s fingers twisted again. He’d never seen Dean this pissed-off unless he’d been hunting. The slightly playful mood at the bar had been obliterated under the weight of his need. Peter concentrated hard, remembering a few tricks Matt Parkman had taught him, and put a thought into Dean’s head.
You can hurt me. You need it. I want it.
Dean nearly jumped off the bed, he was so startled, and Peter realized, a little too late, that Dean didn’t know about that aspect of his telepathy.
“Uh... sorry,” Peter said again, and Dean’s lips twitched in a bit of humorous self-deprecation.
--------------------------
“Dammit Pete, don’t spring that kind of thing on me!” Nathan said in annoyance, eyeing the chocolate bar Peter had just melted with suspicion.
“I thought it would be fun,” Peter said, his smile as innocent as sin. Languidly he poured a ribbon of the melted chocolate from the coffee cup onto Nathan’s naked chest, following it up with a hungry, loving tongue.
Nathan groaned and arched ever-so-slightly into Peter’s mouth, and Peter knew he had been forgiven this time.
----------------------------
Dean leaned forward again, his fingers entering Peter more languidly now, his stroking shallow, teasing, and enjoyed watching Peter come back to full hardness. His chest heaved as Dean withdrew his hand, grabbed for a condom, rolled it on, and then slammed into him. There was no hesitation, just a hard and fast stab into him, and Dean was gratified to see Peter’s cock leap to attention. Tight, hot, close, so easy to take...
“Yeah,” Peter breathed, head rolled back to the headboard. The long, pale line of his throat was open, vulnerable, and Dean couldn’t stand it anymore. He reached down and grabbed the other thing on the bed, what he’d taken from his belt. Leaning forward, screams echoing in his mind, he brought the hunting knife up into Peter’s line of sight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter’s eyes got huge when he saw the blade, less from Dean having it, and more from the absolute darkness in Dean’s eyes. Then Dean thrust into him again, and Peter gasped. Shuddering, cock twitching, Peter stretched up and kissed the blade, running his tongue along the length.
So damn hot Peter, came Dean’s deliberate thought, along with the less-focused, cut him, see him bleed. Sweet cuts...
Peter simply lay back, ready, skin tingling in anticipation, ready to take anything Dean wanted to give him. Open. Willing.
He tried not to jump when Dean made a shallow cut over his right nipple, gasping when Dean’s tongue followed the line of the healing cut. Then under it, then right through it, sucking the pain away as it healed, teasing the tiny peak to hardness. Again, other side, then the breastbone, both clavicles, shallow, almost artistically delicate cuts, painful stinging becoming the adrenaline song of healing.
Then lower, Dean pulling out of him to nick along his ribs, slice arcs in the hollow of his hips, and make elegant cuts on his inner thighs. Peter felt like he was scarcely getting air, his skin doubly sensitive from all the healing, the touch of the warming metal blade, and the feel of Dean’s breath on his skin. All he was hearing from Dean’s mind was darkness and chaos, but he laid still and accepted it, took it in, let him do what he wanted.
Peter’s eyes got huge when Dean leaned over him again, the blade this time coming to lie across Peter’s throat. Danger, danger! all his senses screamed to him, seeing the rising heat and fury in Dean’s face. Red alert! But Peter laid there, dick throbbing with the need to release, more turned on than he ever had been in his life, begging Dean with his eyes.
Dean pressed one palm into Peter’s bound hands, crushing them to the bed, and savagely thrust himself into him, making Peter’s neck scrape lightly across the blade.
“I can do whatever I want,” Dean said darkly, his hips moving in savage rhythm. Peter’s mouth fell open, and he pushed the thought hard at Dean, Yes, yes! This is what he needed from Dean. He would let him do anything. At this moment, he would submit to anything Dean asked.
The knife dug in hard, and Peter desperately willed himself not to cum yet. Red alert, red alert! Had to wait for Dean, had to wait for danger...
But not this time. Fuck you, Alistair, came Dean’s incomprehensible thought. With that, Dean threw the knife away hard enough for it to imbed in the wall, and fell on Peter’s mouth like a starving animal.
“Cum, come on,” Dean gasped through the frantic kisses, arcing into Peter’s body, spurting hard and deep into his ass. Peter screamed into Dean’s mouth, his cock feeling like the end had come off, he came so hard, pressed hard between them, pulsing and pulsing until he fell back into the embrace of the aquatic-patterned comforter.
Dean stayed in him until his breathing had gone back nearly to normal, before rolling off of Peter. Peter flexed his hands as Dean untied them, a slightly peculiar smile on his face. Dean wasn’t thinking so hard anymore, and Peter didn’t go fishing for thoughts. He definitely didn’t need to. The darkness in Dean was back to normal levels.
“Nice,” Dean said, eying Peter’s unmarked torso, his eyebrows arching lasciviously. The mask of the irrepressible cock-of-the-walk Dean was back, and Peter knew that was what Dean wanted right now. He wasn’t Nathan, that he could ask him about what he’d overheard and expect to be answered, at least not yet.
Peter snickered as he sat up, stretching a little to loosen clenched muscles. If Dean wanted to go back to playing that game, then Peter was more than up for it. There would be other times, if Dean ever wanted to tell him anything.
“So,” Peter asked innocently. “How about another beer?”