There was an alley outside the rundown street bar on Dobrovsky, and the air from the docks was so heavy it seeped straight through skin. He wasn't in Prague for long, just a week, and Navidil is just the right place to loose himself in a mass of bodies.

The kid's young. Twenty, twenty two, and his ass was tighter than a banker's fist round a dollar. He had pretty lips that tasted of cherry and soda, and he fucked like a wildcat. Bourne liked it, enjoyed the difference between good sex with a woman, and good sex with a man. The foreplay had died the second the kid turned those big, sinful eyes on him, and if he was pissed that the alley wall had rubbed his skin raw, he didn't complain.

"Come on, harder." Bourne put his hand over those red lips, not wanting to hear anymore. Teeth nipped his palm, and the kid thrashed under him, bucking back up in time to fuck himself on the cock in his ass.

There was a faint line of bruises under the kid's ribs, like a dot-to-dot pattern, and three healing scratched snaked across the hip Bourne used to anchor himself. It was the same story, different characters, he'd seen it hundred times. Didn't like to think about it much; wasn't his problem if a pretty boy liked to set himself up for a beating by fucking strangers in an pissed out alley.

He took his hand from the kid's mouth, and thrust himself forward so hard he made a whimper bounce off the brickwork. He came in the ass of a free fuck, and knew better than to sink his teeth into the white neck against his lips, even when the kid yelled and screeched, and came against the empty wine crates stacked up under his knees.

He wasn't even out of breath. He wished he were, but cleaned himself up with his outer shirt and threw it in a pile of broken glass and bricks.

The kid pulled his pants up from around his ankles and turned around, all shaky wide smiles and glistening green eyes. "Name's Harrison." He grinned.

Bourne nodded, seeing the lie and not caring in the slightest. "Kane."

The kid flashed him white teeth and nodded. "See ya, around, dude."

Bourne waited until he couldn't see the denim clad ass anymore, went back into the bar, and nursed one whiskey for the rest of the night.

****

He went back the following evening at nine, ignored the bartender and drank one beer bottle over five hours. The kid showed up at two-eleven, same jeans, different shirt, and his hair messy, his brow split and patched with medical tape.

He drank a whiskey down in one, then dropped himself down, so close to Bourne that he nearly was sitting in his lap

"I'm Rick." He teased.

"Jo." Bourne replied.

"Whiskey?"

They did it sitting down after that, though Bourne figured he risked rabies or some such shit, his bare ass on the cold toilet seat in the battered up men's room, and the kid balancing on his balls. He had two handfuls of tight ass, his fingers scrapping the stretched hole and feeling the way his lubed up cock jerked in and out of burning heat.

Early on, he taken a handful of the kid's black t-shirt and dragged it up his chest, forcing the hem between white teeth. He wrapped his arms under Rick's ass, and stood, let the kid's own weight fuck him lower on Bourne's cock, whilst a sailor in the stall besides them sung drunkenly and pissed on the floor.

The smile he got when they were done wasn't quite so bright, but he'd cleaned the kid off this time and almost smiled himself.

"You have a good night, Jo." The kid said, brushing absently at the spit soaked edge of his shirt and sauntering from the men's room like there weren't a hundred other bastards in the bar that wouldn't like to do to him what Bourne had just done.

This time Bourne followed, stayed in the shadow and watched the bravado slip as the kid whispered into a cell phone.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just taking a little longer than we figured. Should get the last of the fuckers tomorrow, maybe." The kid looked like a child denied his teddy, but he nodded to the deserted street. "Yes sir, yes, I will. Think I might row back, though. Stupid fucking planes."

He hung up, looked around him, right at Bourne where he hid in the shadows, and spun away to walk down the street, looking like the poster child for sex. Bourne considered following him, but changed his mind. He went back into the bar, and drank three whiskeys in a row.

***

Kid didn't show up the next night. Bourne was pissed, and he didn't know why, but he stalked down the back alleys looking for a fight. The streets were dark, unlit by overhead lighting, just the odd florescent light of a strip joint or porn store. He rounded onto Hooker's lane, knowing he'd find some worthless piece of shit he could vent his frustration on.

Instead, he found the source of his problems.

The kid was fucked, and not in the way Bourne had been leaving him. Four bodies, four headless bodies lay in the street, blood clinging to the air like smog, worse than the smell of the docks. A gore soaked machete lay abandoned between heads and the kid struggled weakly between two guys and a girl, who looked like junkies and snarled like wild dogs.

Bourne snapped the girl's neck before she could untangle herself from her friends, and hauled the guy between the kid's naked legs up into the air and face first into the wall.

The third, and ugliest of the fuckers snarled again, and showed Bourne a mouthful of teeth no dentist would touch.

He wanted to ask, what the fucking hell? but knew he'd get no answers, and only waste his breath. The fucker was strong, stronger than Bourne, but no way near as good. He went down after his skull grew a fist-sized hole.

A snapping sound had Bourne spinning in time to take a handful of nails across the face. He felt skin tear, tasted blood on his lips, and for a vital second, his vision was obscured. When it cleared, he saw Death look down on him. It pounced, and a moment later, the head flew off and bounced against the road.

The kid was shaking like a newborn foal, bloody, and clutching his jeans around his waist with a hand that was whiter than the marble floor of the ruined old Church besides Bourne's hotel. The other two assholes sported similar short shaves.

"Dean." The kid said quietly, dropping the machete to hold out hand. Bourne took it, but did't put more than a token amount of weight against Dean. It looked like a strong wind might knock the kid over, and it's only then that he realized that the freak that nearly killed him was the chick whose neck he broke.

"What was that?" He asked, because he knew Dean would tell him, just like he knew the kid wasn't lying about his name this time.

Dean's pretty lips pressed into a tight line, and he looked down at the bodies with something close to hate. "Vampires." He spat, and the answer was nearly as strange as an amnesiac super soldier wandering the streets of Europe like a vagabond.

The wind hits the narrow street the wrong way, and whistles between the buildings. Dean still shivered, and his shirt was too fucked to provide much cover from the biting cold. Ignoring the voices that fire questions like bullets into his brain, Bourne shrugged out of his leather jacket and wrapped it around the kid's shoulders. It was too big, but Dean would grow into it in time.

"You got a name, Jo Kane?" Den asked, voice as fucked as his clothes.

Bourne said nothing for nearly a minute, then answered, "It's Jason."

That got him the full smile, the one Bourne had known from the get go would be fucking devastating.

"Fancy a drink, Jason? I know a bar that'll blow your mind. Then maybe I'll blow you."

Bourne stayed in Prague for another week, as long as it took for Dean to heal, and for them to fuck in every position he could think of. When they did finally leave, they both had fake passports, and Bourne whispered in Dean's ear the entire flight to Washington. He'd never talked so much in his whole damned life.

He stayed with Dean all the way to California, and learned that the 'Sir' on the phone was the kid's dad. In Stanford, Dean vanished for hours, and come back ready to fuck him through the motel wall. When he came, the name he screamed was "Sam".

The next day, Bourne was in Mexico.

He's still never seen another vampire.