More than Magic

[lovestheimpala]

Once upon a time, there was a species of supernatural beings who liked to watch over the ones with deep desires in their hearts. If they were good, they would grant them wishes, and help them on the way to finding true love and happiness.

In the old days, they were so loved and revered that stories would be told of them. But the fairy godmothers, as they were known amongst those who held them dear, grew to be more and more presumptuous about the wishes of their wards. In short, they got cocky and more and more of the granted wishes backfired. It got so bad that people stopped loving them, stopped telling stories about them, and when they finally stopped making wishes to them the species started die out. Without the wishes giving them the power, there was nothing to keep them in existence.

But of course, some stories alive and there was always the occasional wishes dropping in from little children that had yet to stop believing, so a few stayed a live. A handful at first, then only a couple, and finally just the one.

The very last of the fairy godmothers is a mess to behold.

He's fading, there's no doubt of that, and his once gloriously sparkling gown hangs in tatters. His beautiful mane of silver and cream has lost all luster and is falling out by the handfuls. His wings barely function anymore, and he's generally had one too many hits of Mumbo Jamma Juice. Bothering with wishes isn't really a thing anymore. Occasionally, he will come across something that catches his attention enough that he uses the last drops of his power to try to grant it.

Sadly, he rarely gets it right.

Like when he comes across this semi-young hunter with a plethora of the most sore and sad wishes in his scarred and broken heart. The hidden longing for love and family and home, reminds the fairy godmother so much of the princesses he used to cater to thousands of years ago, that he can't resist the need to want to bring just those things to the hunter.

Except, again he gets it wrong. He gets those wishes all garbled up and can't differentiate between love and home and safety, and he thinks the best thing he can do for this one called Dean is to turn his beloved car into a human. And the face the old fairy picks, is the first one he can pluck out of what lies in Dean's heart.

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[lovestheimpala]

Dean knows exactly what the billboard would say, but when asked about it he goes a shade paler and even stumbles back a step. He didn't think he would ask. He expected more of an unspoken understanding. Because come on, they both know. How could he NOT know.

"First thing's first. I didn't tell Baby anything. He guessed. I know it's all still up in the air about what he really is and the whole concept of a car turning into a living, breathing guy who can pinpoint exactly the worst possible thing you're feeling- But- But bear with me on this. It makes sense that he can do that, especially with me. You gotta remember, if he's that car, he's been there for every single thing ever that happened to me and my family. I was almost born in that car. I've told the Impala every damned secret I ever had. Stuff I couldn't even really admit to myself. And I'm freaking sure Sam's done the same, and my dad would do the same. That car's family. Of course it's gonna take one look at anything that goes on with me and know what the shit is happening."

"But you gotta remember- It's a freaking car. I don't know how the hell it's got memories, but the memories it has are just of whatever happened in or around it. It doesn't have the whole picture. Baby doesn't know everything, and he doesn't understand the shit he does know enough to be able to say stuff like what I like or don't like, or comment on anything else. Anything that comes outta him's just part of the picture."

He has to stop for air, but HE'S NOT DONE YET. No point in breaking the walls and decide to talk if they're not going to actually TALK, so he's gonna say it all while he feels he has half a chance to do so. At least he won't walk away from this feeling that he should have or could have. At least this way, if FDR blows it off... he knows not to waste his time around these parts anymore.

But it's the subject that makes Dean fidget and hesitate. "And... your face isn't your best feature. Yeah, you're hot but that's not- It's not why I keep coming back for more. There's plenty of hot chicks and big dicks out there. S'not why I keep coming back- It's not why I l- like you." His ability to form sentences is quickly dissolving.

He actually takes another step back, chest heaving like an animal right on the verge of sprinting off. Someone trained to read people, like FDR, should be able to see how pathetically honest that fear is. It's not that he doesn't mean the shit his saying, even if he stumbles over the last of his point and ends up just blurting out that: "Should be freaking OBVIOUS what's on the damn billboard!"

[bigvessel]

He knows exactly what he's doing. He knows what would be slapped on that billboard and he's let Dean go far too long without having to address it. Maybe because they've made this too easy on themselves. Not acknowledging how close they've become, how often he looks forward to curling up on the couch with the man as often as he does to rolling around in the sheets with him. And he knows Dean is eager to come back to him when he's finished with a mission, whenever they both have some time off to see each other.

So yeah. He's pushing. He's pushing and Dean is sweating and backing up and rambling. And they're things that...well, things he did need to hear. Because it makes sense. But secrets are his job, and he doesn't exactly like something walking around that knows more than him about Dean.

He follows Dean, and he'll corner him if he has to. "Why do you like me then?"

[lovestheimpala]

As much as he can feel himself being cornered, he's actually relieved, and happy, to see that at least FDR cares enough to push rather than to ignore it and close the door on him. The new question is also a whole crap-ton lot easier for him to answer.

"Because you're easy- to be around, I mean. You've got crap taste in music and great taste in shows, and if I let you pick dinner we end up with something a five year-old would choose. I really freaking like that you were Steve Urkel before puberty remembered you. That kid is probably one of my favorite things about you. I like that you're always a text away, even when you're on the other side of the planet, and if I don't answer your call I'm guaranteed to get SWAT on my ass within an hour. God, that is so annoying and clingy, but damn if it's not a little comforting to know that you got my back, and... with you, I don't always have to be the good guy. You get that sometimes, a guy just wants to switch over to mirror verse. That makes me breathe easier. A lot less pretending going on when I'm here."

So there it is, all but a few words laid bare and Dean straightens a little to show that he stands by every word he said... and that he's not gonna let it die with that.

"You know... you kinda have a big, flashing neon sign up, too." Excuse his hint of a smirk. It's partly a defense mechanism for when he's feeling vulnerable, partly genuine amusement, but zero percent mockery. "What do you see in me, anyway? Why do you even bother getting all hurt and pouty over me?" Because... he's worthless. What's he got other than a world of issues layered over issues layered over nightmares? And all that is right there in the honest confusion lingering in his question.

[bigvessel]

He's not sure what he's expecting as an answer. Rich. Cool car. Cooler house. Good in bed. He's not expecting all of the sappy shit that comes tumbling out of Dean's mouth, and he definitely doesn't expect the way it warms his stomach in ways that he hasn't felt-well, he's not sure he's ever felt.

"Oh, do I?" He grins, once Dean is finally cornered, and he leans in, sets an arm right above his head. They're close but not touching. "Well. That sign would probably say that I love you, you moron. Not something I've ever been scared to say. Just didn't think you wanted to hear it."

[lovestheimpala]

Dean stops breathing when his back hits the wall. Even if he's the slightly taller one, he feels like FDR is towering over him. He swallows, but his mouth has gone completely dry. He doesn't even know what he's scared of, but... what he hears isn't it.

What FDR actually says makes him laugh and roll his eyes, completely breaking any tension he was feeling. "You are cockiest SOB ever," he says with a grin, his hand reaching up to straighten FDR's collar. That's a habit he's picked up just because of him. "Listen to you, saying that like it's the big reveal of some chick flick and expecting me to swoon and pull up my skirt for you..."

As much as Dean is rolling his eyes, he also looks so kinda happy. "Thing is about big neon signs... it's pretty easy to read what's on them, and I read yours ages ago, man. Come on. Why the hell else would I still be doing this? Didn't have a problem hearing it, but I didn't need to. I knew."

Then his smile falters just a bit, and he looks like he's slipping back to scared again. "Didn't ask what the sign said. I asked why."

[bigvessel]

"Yeah well..." And he grins as Dean straightens a collar that doesn't need straightening. "We both know you'd pull up your skirt right about now if I asked you to."

But he sighs and pulls his arm away from the wall as his hands slide into his back pockets. He's not sure what Dean's so wound up about. The why isn't nearly as important as the what in this situation. But it's...definitely the harder one to talk about, strangely.

"Don't really consider the whys, actually. I just know that I worry like hell about you. When you're gone. When you get all closed up. Or when you have a nightmare. I know that I trust you enough to sleep soundly with you by my side, and that's not nothing. I know you have my back. That you'd die for me-" Okay, that might be cheating. He's using Tuck's lines, but that doesn't make it any less true. "I'd die for you. That's just what love is, man. The flaws, the imperfections, they just make you more unique. They make you honest and real. And...in this line of work it's like a breath of fresh air. You're damaged and dented, and its-" And he shrugs, "I wouldn't want you any other way."

[lovestheimpala]

The hand that is toying with FDR's collar moves up to tease along the back of his neck, and then into his hair to grab a fistful. He likes tugging on that mess of overly coiffed hair. He might not swoon over three stupid little words, but he is a sucker for that grin.

But what settles his worries isn't that smile. It's the why. Because he comes from a world where the why matters above all else. It's what makes everything else worth it. And what FDR says is... just the right thing. He's heard the same things before, but it's not always it comes from someone he can trust to actually understand how damaged he really is. That's what makes all the rest mean something.

"Y'know, I got an in with Death. He's actually kind of a cool dude. There's no way I'd let him take you," he says with a careful smile. He means that. He would cast every spell and hex and summon needed to keep FDR breathing.

He pulls FDR closer and chuckles. The threat of a kiss is there, but their lips aren't touching. "So. How ticked off would your pal be if we fooled around on his pool table?"

[bigvessel]

"You should really not talk to me about Death." He mutters, and there's a hint of...pain in the words before his arms settle on Dean's hips and he closes the distance between them. Because he likes that hand in his hair, he's always been a little weak to a good hairpull.

"He'll probably throw me out of another plane." He grins, and if Dean won't close the deal, he will, and he leans down to kiss him hard on the lips. He feels like he hasn't been intimate with Dean since that damn car came into the picture and he's not sure what the hell Tuck did with him for now, but he knows he'll owe the guy for it later.

[lovestheimpala]

Dean shuts his eyes and mutters a soundless curse at the momentary slip of mind. He should have known not to mention Death, yeah, and guilt washes over him for having done so. "Maybe- Maybe ask me about heaven some time..." he all but whispers. Sometime, but not now. Dean knows all too well how they both have the ability to completely kill the mood, however unintentional it may be, and god-freaking-dammit, right now he needs his makeup sex.

It's the part that makes the fight worth it, and he's not about to let that go. His body was set for three full days of naked debauchery and they barely got one before it got interrupted. Dean's hellbent on catching up on lost time.

He answers the kiss in kind, hungry and hard, and the hand not playing painfully with FDR's hair digs into his hip so he can guide the man back towards the pool table. He does have every possible intention of tainting it for all time.

[bigvessel]

Seriously, Dean? You go from Death to Heaven and think that any of this is going to be any better? He's posed to respond to that particular comment when that kiss becomes hard and insistent and he's being walked back to the pool table, and he can't help but sit on it once they're there.

He could wrap his legs around Dean's hips, he could pull him back onto the table and ruin it and listen to Tuck's complaints until he buys him a new one-but he's stuck.

So he shoves just enough on Dean's chest to get those lips off his own. "You went to heaven too? Just how many damn times have you died, Dean?" God, and he can't even jump out of planes or moving vehicles on the street, and face down criminals with guns and other weapons of mass destruction and fucking die once.

[lovestheimpala]

Dean chases FDR's lips, perfectly willing to fight against that push and not let them get distracted, but he finds it impossible to ignore that question. They have gotten themselves lost down this path enough times that he knows the best way to deal with it is to just answer.

"A few times. It doesn't matter. I'm still here, right? Not going anywhere."

[bigvessel]

That's not his problem with it. Not at all. Dean can't make that promise, and FDR doesn't expect him to. But, the man has been to hell and back. And...heaven and. It makes his head hurt sometimes, as much as he's willing to accept this lifestyle. Sometimes it's just hard to swallow.

So fine, they won't broach the real subject. It's better not to anyway.

Instead he slides up to sit on the pool table, hooks his legs around Dean's hips as he does so and he reaches out to grab the collar of his shirt to pull him back in and down against him. "Get to it, then."

[lovestheimpala]

He's very happy to answer questions, just not right now. Not when they're trying to make things not hurt. And he has every intention of taking advantage of the fact that they're still not fully over to the point where they can't block it out anymore.

He runs his hands down FDR's sides and lets out an appreciative groan. Muscle memory alone is enough warm his engines. Now normally he would take an unholy amount of time to undress the guy in front of him (if only because he knows what his partner likes), but this isn't one of those times. He needs fast and hard, and to tear that shirt open and ruin it--probably piss FDR off in the process--and dive in to bite hard at any flesh that's exposed. It's a day to leave marks.

[bigvessel]

"Hey!" He doesn't care if they're in the middle of making out or not, you don't tear one of his work shirts, those are expensive pieces of clothing! "You're crawling on the floor until you find every one of those buttons."

He doesn't fight the mouth on his skin though, or the bite that he knows is meant to leave bruises in it's path. Right now he doesn't mind the reminder.

His hand cards through Dean's hair before he tugs on it roughly, just for the sake of making it ache. He knows this mood. He can feel it buzzing around Dean. They're not making love, or having sex, they're fucking. And he's fine with that.

[lovestheimpala]

"Like you don't have a hundred shirts that look exactly the same," Dean laughs against his skin.

He finds he doesn't like this angle. It's hard to get close enough with one of them sitting and the other one standing and even if he's heading straight for the warp 10, raw fuck here, it doesn't mean there's not an emotional aspect to this. Because there is, and it's more genuine than if he'd had the control to slow down and play Lover Boy.

Dean pushes FDR back on the table and climbs after so he can get on top of him. Still scrambling to get whatever fabric is between them out of the way so he can taste every exposed inch of skin.

[bigvessel]

"God damn it." He curses, sliding back along the table to make room for Dean when he realizes what he's doing, and he works the zipper and button off his own pants, not interested in them becoming a casualty under Dean's eagerness either, and he scoots them down off his hips until they bunch up at his feet. It takes some maneuvering to hook the heels of his shoes on the edge of the table and nudge them off, but he does before kicking his pants off the rest of the way.

Now that he doesn't have to worry about anymore destruction, he works on Dean's pants, unsnapping them and taking the time to slide his hands around the open hem of them, to hook his fingers onto the pants right above Dean's ass so he can drag fingers down rounded flesh even as he undresses him.

There's kink in clothing, Dean's been with him long enough to know that, to know how the simple dress and undress can get FDR riled up, but he's not all that interested in foreplay right now. He's been frustrated and hurt and angry, but it's speckled with those good feelings, like Dean cooking Nana's stew and pie, like chasing him into Tuck's home and cornering him into emotions. It's all a knot in his stomach and sex is always the easiest way to get at it.

[lovestheimpala]

As much as he was eager to get FDR naked he doesn't care about getting his own off. Not beyond his shirt being open so he can feel that skin-to-skin glide, and his pants slipping down just enough so FDR can sneak his hands in there. He's already shivering from the ghost of hands on his ass, and from a growing frustration because they did not think this through. Or maybe he didn't think it through.

All he wants it to thoroughly fuck all these feelings, good and bad, out of them, but there's no amount of sloppy spit-slicking that's gonna work for that.

Cursing under his breath, he comes up to kiss him, but even that crackles with nervous energy. His kisses are scattered and unfocused. Like he can't decide what part of him he wants to taste the most.

[bigvessel]

It's off, in that way is so terribly them and he sighs into that kiss before his hands slide up into his hair and he grips him tight to hold him there. "Shh. I get it." He hums, leaning up to bump foreheads with Dean. And he does, this is their go to bandaid when things are getting a little too intense, and then they're good for a little while before it catches up to them again. But they've pushed and cornered and now they've got a bunch of feelings fucking with their heads.

"How about we wait to do it right, huh?"

But he is naked, and Dean is half dressed in the laziest fucking way, and they're already on Tuck's pool table, so he loosens one hand from his hair to slide down to wrap around Dean's cock and stroke.

[lovestheimpala]

It would have been so much easier, in some ways, if this bastard under him didn't understand. That's the problem right there. When he hits a wall, doesn't matter why, FDR just gets it. And it's not in that bullshit "I'm trying to connect with you on an emotional level" sort of way. It's genuine. Doesn't require explanation beyond that, or apologies, and Dean breathes a little easier.

"Yeah." He'd like that. This time when he kisses him, it's a little lazy and appreciative, happy and thankful. "When we go home, we're gonna break your goddamn bed," he promises.

But you know, they are sort of naked, and it would be a damn shame if he ripped that shirt for nothing, and FDR's clearly thinking along the same lines... Dean comes back into that kiss, at the same time reaching down to return the favor. Nice and steady, and then hopefully the engine in his chest will somehow find a steady rhythm again, too.

[bigvessel]

"I think you've ruined enough today already." He smirks, free hand carding through Dean's hair before settling on the back of his neck, where he can play with the short hairs there, or drag his nails casually across the stretch of skin.

This is easy and casual, and there's no pressure in it. A brief mindless moment where they can just enjoy the press of skin, the feel of lips, the friction of a firm hand. Whatever's got Dean's head all twisted up, he can let it go for the moment. Doesn't have to prove anything. Neither of them do.

So he tilts his hips into that touch, sighs appreciatively against Dean's lips as he slowly works him up and he returns the favor.

[lovestheimpala]

"Not even nearly enough." He purrs, then drags a tongue along FDR's neck. His hand works on him almost on automatic. He knows that dick so well. He knows what it likes and what it needs.

It really helps, more than he thought, that they could switch from rocket fuel to pedal power without things getting weird, without hitting any walls. He got scared, okay? It does terrify him whenever he has to confront himself with the fact that he loves him.

Everything he cares about, ever, gets taken away. So he gets frantic, like a starved, dying man trying to decide what his last meal should be- But then FDR can ground him like this and kiss him like they don't have anywhere to be for years... and Dean can almost believe that this one thing is gonna stay his.

[bigvessel]

"You are so damn destructive." He grumbles against his mouth before he's breaking the kiss, lips pressing down Dean's jaw line in an easy trail, and he nuzzles in against his neck nipping and sucking at skin there even as his breathing starts to grow a little heavier, a little erratic as that hand touches and strokes him just how he needs it, and he's not sure he could do a better job with his own hand. It's just a testament to how long they've been doing this, how well they know each other.

His own hand squeezes a little tighter, grows a little more insistent in it's strokes. Patience isn't his best virtue after all, and he would really prefer that they finish this before Tuck shows back up.

[lovestheimpala]

"And you love it." Doesn't matter how happy that makes him, or how much it scares him, there's still a truckload of smug victory in his grin. A grin that fades pretty quickly as his eyes glide shut and heavy breathing becomes quiet moans. That whole 'touch me better than I touch myself' thing goes both ways.

He can tell FDR is trying to finish him off and he knows he doesn't stand a chance against that hand's expertise, but he doesn't mind one bit. But he stops what he's doing and rests his hand on FDR's hip, just to take a moment to enjoy before it's all too much and he spills with a bitten-back groan.

A moment to catch his breath after he's empty, and then he gets this... cocky god. damn. smirk before he licks his lips and vanishes down to lick clean the mess he's made all over FDR's dick and abdomen. He just can't resist the urge to one-up him on this.

[bigvessel]

He's aware the moment that hand stops moving that Dean has made some game plan up, but he's not all that concerned. So he keeps moving, likes the feel of Dean's muscles bunching around him, of hearing those aborted noises, the pulse of his cock as he comes in his hand. He smirks when he feels hot come spill onto his bare stomach and hip, and he slowly lets his fingers slip form Dean's cock once it stills in his palm.

His brow arches at that particular look. He knows that look. It's a dangerous look that has his stomach twisting in the most pleasant of ways. He does love Dean cocky.

He groans when he starts heading southward and he can guess just what Dean has in mind. His hand eagerly settles in thick hair when he gets the chance and he needlessly helps guide him downward, hips arching slightly in anticipation.

But Dean doesn't make it to his cock, he stops at the mess on his stomach and he lets out a surprised breath. God. That's obscene. And that just makes it that more attractive.

"Love it when you lick me clean, baby." He purrs.

[lovestheimpala]

A laugh rumbles against FDR's skin. His tongue leaves a painting of wet swirls and lines as Dean works his way around to catch every drop. Fingernails drag along the insides of his thighs, teasing as he kneads and rubs.

That teasing pace ends when Dean gets as far as wrapping his lips around the tip the waiting cock. It becomes a different game then. He closes his hand around the root of it and dives down to shove as much of that length as physically possible down his throat. He knows what his boyfriend likes.