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[maab-connor.livejournal.com]

Title: Home
Author: maab_connor
Fandoms: Supernatural/Leverage
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: pre-series for both
Pairings: Eliot/Dean
Character(s) Eliot & Dean
Summary: Dean had learned as a child that “home” was a flexible concept; it wasn’t four walls and a fence. For lady_yashka’s promt at comment_fic inspired by this pic

Dean’s home was on the road, he knew that. It’s how it had always been and how it would be until the day he was too slow and a monster got the best of him. He had learned as a child that “home” was a flexible concept; it wasn’t four walls and a fence, it was his dad’s hand squeezing his shoulder in that way that always said I’m proud of you; it was the look Sam gave him on the first day at yet another new school that said I’m scared and it was the smile he always gave in return that said I’m here, I’m always here, don’t be scared. Home was the scent of the road and gun oil, it was the lingering taste of rock salt in the air and the ring of a sawed-off in his ear. Home was a broken yellow line and hotel sheets and family; because that was all he had.

But now his family had changed and splintered; dad was off on his own hunts more than half the time and Sam left them for the real world and the same house key in his pocket for more than a month straight and Dean was pretty much on his own. Gun oil, rock salt and a broken yellow line didn’t feel so much like home now.

But the scent of Eliot, leather and sandalwood and apple shampoo; the sound of a whetstone and a half-hummed tune; callused hands and soft kisses… if Dean isn’t really careful that could become home to him. So, so easily. So he goes off on his hunts and he lives his own life hunting monsters and he doesn’t ask where Eliot’s going. And when they’re patching each other up with whiskey and fishing wire, they don’t ask what happened. They hold each other out at that distance.

Dean was back from hunting a banshee, he was tired and he was dirty and he just wanted a shower and a bed.

He opened the door to his hotel room and heard the shower running, smelled leather and sandalwood and apple shampoo; he saw the bed, a rumpled mess that looked like someone had slept in it three days straight. And Dean smiled. He stripped as he walked to the bathroom and opened the door to a wall of steam.

The curtain moved in a flash and there was Eliot, naked and wet and soapy and ready for a fight. He saw Dean standing there naked and his fists released and his scowl turned to a lecherous smile. He reached out without a word and pulled Dean to him, into the tub and into a spray of water that was nearly as hot as the kiss they fell into so hungrily.

Eliot’s soapy hands washed the grime from Dean’s body and brought it to life again on the razor’s edge of passion. He hadn’t seen Eliot in three weeks and he needed… needed… needed so much. His hands carded through the hair Eliot refused to cut and fisted there when Eliot’s finger breached him with the rough edge he so needed.

“The plan with me takin’ a shower and gettin’ all presentable before you got home was that I would take my time,” Eliot’s fuck-me voice was raw and raspy in his ear.

“I don’t need that,” Dean panted back. “Just need you. So hurry the hell up and fuck me already.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dean was spun, his chest and his face were pushed onto the steamy tiles. Eliot pushed another finger into him and kissed his shoulders, his neck, anywhere he could reach.

Dean arched his back and nearly shouted, “Dude, I said hurry the fuck up.”

Eliot’s laugh rumbled all the way through Dean’s body. His fingers were gone and the blunt head of his cock was teasing Dean’s entrance. And before Dean could say anything, before he could demand again, Eliot was filling him, pushing into him, uncoiling the last of the stress from the hunt and bringing the focus of his world to where his body was shifting to accommodate Eliot’s girth. It was hard and hot and hurt like a mother, but it was also exactly the distraction Dean needed.

Eliot didn’t wait, he knew that Dean didn’t want that; this wasn’t about a gentle hello, a soft reminder that not everything was hard in life; no, this was an affirmation of life, one that needed the small dose of pain to prove that it was real and capable of existing in the same universe as the rest of their lives. It was fast and it was hard and there was no finesse. No soft words or gentle touches need apply, they sounded like animals in rut, and damned if that wasn’t kind of how they felt. They were all heat and need, callused hands gripping hard enough to bruise, hot water trailing over heated flesh as they worked a furious pace towards completion.

Eliot’s hips were slamming against Dean’s ass and Dean was right there, every time, meeting him thrust for hungry thrust. And when Eliot fisted Dean’s neglected cock roughly, Dean came with a howl that made them both pray there was no one on the other side of the wall. Eliot didn’t make a sound as he came, but he held onto Dean with a vise-like grip, trying to ground himself as he emptied into his lover.

The water was cooling as they caught their breath and they kissed their way back down.

“Missed you,” Eliot said just before he turned off the water and reached blindly for a towel.

“You too,” Dean said with a smile just before his head was covered in terry cloth and a gentle, but vigorous movement dried his hair and face.

They dried off and went back out to that rumpled bed and climbed in together, curling and relaxing. Neither asked and neither volunteered anything about their weeks apart; all of that was out there, out in the world that wasn’t theirs – this, this was theirs and theirs alone.

As bad as the hunt had been, this made it better. Eliot was here and as much as Dean had fought it, Eliot and this rumpled bed felt like home.