With a sigh he blows the stray strands of hair back from his face, the tan cowboy hat doing little to keep the hair from slipping right back, wraps his hand around that long neck bottle of beer in front of him, and takes a long pull. He sets the bottle back down firmly on the bar, and lets his head drop back, wondering how bad he's fucked things up this time. He knows Jensen is in town, back home in Dallas, visiting his family during the time he's got free before he has to work on season three of that show of his, and taking drives out to San Antonio to hang out with Jared God Damned Padalecki, the very person that has taken Christian's place as Jenny's best friend. It sucks beyond belief and hurts like a sonofabitch, but what else should he expect?
He should have known better than to go swaggering up to Jensen's LA pad after a few too many shots of Jack in him. Hell, drunken confesses are a country song cliché that rings all to true. Damn and he'd confessed everything, from the fact that he jerks off and comes with his best friend's name on his lips to the fact that he still has his teddy bear from when he was a kid, even if he doesn't sleep with Spunky anymore, he still has it.
He leans forward and slaps a hand on the bar and then asks for a shot of tequila. The bar tender eyes him warily, but hell, it's easy money and if another cowboy wants to get drunk off his ass, then who's he to stop him?
A moment later Christian is downing his third shot, and he senses someone taking the seat next to him and ordering a bottle of Jack. Hell, if he's lucky, maybe he can bum a few shots of the guy next to him and they can both drown their sorrows. There is something achingly familiar in the husky tones of the man's voice, and the shadow that crawls off the man to land on Chris.
Christian shifts his gaze to look, and then his mouth falls open, because there, plain as day, is Jensen. He didn't think he'd see Jenny Boy ever again after Jensen clocked him in the jaw, but he'd still come out to Dallas to try to at least salvage their friendship. And here he was, probably tracked him down after going through a whole list of ass crack bars to find this place and talk some feelings and shit before they slapped each other on the back and were buddies again.
"Damn, son," Chris said, and smacked Jensen on the back. "Let me buy that drink."
Jensen jumps at the contact, and then turns, his gaze was dark and warning, and his hand is firm to the point of painful on Chris' arm.
Chris sucks in a breath and then nods. "'Kay, fine. Be that way, but still looks like you could use a drink, my friend. Whatcha say I pick up the tab and we take a walk 'round and split a couple bottles between us?"
Jensen lifts a brow and smirks at him, and Chris isn't sure that he's ever seen that expression on Jensen's face. It's almost a challenge and it sends a shiver up his spine. Jensen nods and then says, "Sure, and damn, got the shit kicked outta ya over some heartache? Must hurt like a sonofabitch. Been there myself a time or two."
Chris pauses in slapping his hand down on the bar and looks in confusion at Jensen, before he shakes away the thought. Jen is probably just downplaying the fact that he was the one that let loose a solid right hook to Chris' jaw. "Yeah man. Got anywhere we can go to talk?"
Jensen reaches for Chris' forgotten beer, and knocks back the rest of the bottle in two gulps. "I think I know a place. Ain't like Sammy'll be coming back any time soon."
"Who's Sammy?" Chris asks in confusion, wondering why the name almost sounds familiar.
Jensen snorts. "Some emo little bitch that needs to get laid. Now let's get those bottles and head out."
"Sure thing, Jen, sounds good. Just you and me. Ain't got your guard dog out cock blockin' ya tonight, my man. Less you're fuckin' him and ain't tol' me yet."
Jensen gives him a funny look, shrugs, and takes the bottles of tequila and whiskey from the bartender while Christian pays.
----------
Dean vaguely wonders what he's doing as he slips the room key into the door, and the short, drunk cowboy is pressed up against him, his head thrown back as he takes a pull from the bottle of tequila and calls him Jenny. The guy is an obvious, easy fuck. No strings attached, and besides he's not in the mood for cuddling since Sam took off in one of his little emo snits. Maybe he should feel guilty, but fuck Sam for stringing him along and cutting him off again with how wrong it is for them to want each other.
It's more than fucking, and Dean wants to tell him so, but Sam always cuts him off, and hell, Dean is a hot-blooded male and he has needs. Right now his dick is straining against his jeans, making the denim stretch tighter and there's a drunk, love sick cowboy more than willing to give him some relief, and he doesn't care if the guy calls him by Dean, Jenny, or God, as long as he gets to shoot his load buried in hot, tight warmth.
Something's gotta give, and his cock is aching too much and he's got a nice buzz from the alcohol to worry too much over Sammy right now, because he's currently pissed at Sam, and why is it so hard to get the fucking door open, and Christ, that cowboy sure knows what he's doing with his tongue licking along Dean's throat, and his teeth grazing over his pulse.
"Christ, Jenny, wanna fuck you so bad, want that pretty fucking mouth wrapped 'round my cock. I'll make you forget him. Cause I know you got it bad for Jay, man, but I'm here. Always been here, and fuck if I'm gonna let some kid in on what's mine. You hear, Jenny boy? You're mine, God Dammit. And ain't no freakishly tall asshole wearing a damn pink shirt with the sugar rush from hell gonna take ya from me. I was there first. I called shotgun long damn time ago," the cowboy slurs.
Dean lets out a groan as the cowboy's hand slips to his straining crotch, and he almost thinks he should feel guilty, but if the cowboy is willing and, if that hard cock pressed against his side is anything to go by, then he is, who is he to deny a little one-night stand? Dean's got morals, but morals don't count when it comes down to fucking and he's gone cold turkey like a damned monk for weeks. A hand can only provide so much relief, and Dean doesn't want carpel tunnel by the time he's thirty. It could throw off his aim, and a hunter with shitty aim isn't much of a hunter.
----------
It's taking way too damn long, in Chris' humble opinion, to get in this room and get down to the business of fucking. He's wanted Jensen Ackles for years and now here's his chance, and the door just ain't fucking cooperating. Chris ain't gonna let some door stop the inevitable. He's waited too long, and Jensen is here now, hot and ready and all for the damn taking.
Chris snatches the key from Jensen, and opens the damn door himself, and isn't met with much resistance. He stumbles into the room, disturbing the line of salt at the door. Salt, that's a little weird. He watches as Jensen spreads the salt back quickly, and then Jensen is on him, throwing his cowboy hat across the room, hands tugging at his shirt, teeth scraping along his neck as filth spills from those damn luscious lips of his.
Chris is on edge, and he lets his head fall over to expose more of his neck, and catches a gleam of steal out of the corner of his eye. Holy hell, since when did Jensen get such a damn collection of weapons? He let's out a shuddering breath and concentrates on the mouth he's fantasized about for years, doing things to him that he's pretty damn sure he'll never forget.
Jensen jerks Chris' shirt up and over Chris' head, and then he's crowding Chris against the wall. He's licking and sucking along Chris' collarbone, and he's still talking.
"Haven't fucked someone shorter than me in a while. Almost like fucking a chick again. You're not built like a chick though. Gonna suck ya dry, and you're gonna cry out his name, but all you'll see is me. Me sucking your cock and riding that sweet ass till you can't move," Jensen says, and his hands are firm, the grip bruising on Chris' ass. "You like it, dirty, don'tcha, baby?"
Chris' head falls back and thumps loudly against the wall as Jensen licks and sucks and bites his way down his chest. Chris wants to squirm when Jensen bites hard enough to leave a mark over his right hip, and his cock twitches as Jensen jerks his belt free, undoes the button of his jeans and yanks the zipper down.
Chris slips his hands into Jensen's short hair, and jerks his head back so that their eyes lock, and there's something he's never seen in Jensen's eyes, that he's never seen before, almost like this man isn't really Jensen. That doesn't make any sense though, the lips, the pout, the freckles that almost seemed to have moved, but he's just drunk and making a big deal out of nothing.
"You're a little over dressed, Ackles, and take it easy. Been waiting a long time for this. Don't want it to be over before it has a chance to get started," Chris says.
Jensen gives him a look of confusion, then shrugs it off and stands up from the crouch he was just in. Chris watches eagerly as Jensen pulls the shirt up his body, shucking it like a second skin, and then he pops the button on his jeans, and languidly slips the zipper down, before kicking out of his boots.
He cocks his head in a challenge at Chris, his right brow raised as he says, "Now we're kinda even. So how about stop fucking around and let's get to the fucking, cause I got good mileage and I wanna be buried balls deep in that sweet ass sometime before the apocalypse."
Jensen is crowding him again, and it's starting to bug Chris. Chris isn't all that tall, and usually his height doesn't bother him that much, but when someone deliberately crowds him, and tries to intimidate him or coerce him into doing something because of a height advantage, well that's about the surest way to piss him off. If Jenny wants to play it this way, fine. Chris might be shorter, but that doesn't exactly mean he's a pushover. He can damn sure hold his own.
Chris pushes back against Jensen and then tackles him to the bed nearest the bathroom. Jensen lands with a grunt and a chuckle. "Tougher than you look. I think I like that. Feisty little thing, ain't ya?"
"There ain't nothing little 'bout my dick," Chris growls and grinds down against Jensen's crotch, and Jensen rises up and arches a little at the contact.
"Show me whatcha got, shorty," Jensen challenges and Christian Fucking Kane can work with that.
Chris looks down at that smug look on Jensen's face and he doesn't think he's ever hated Jensen Ackles until this moment, but there is fire, anger, hatred, and lust burning deep in his gut, and damn if he's gonna let this go.
----------
Dean is flat on his back with the cowboy above him, glaring down at him like he wants to either kiss him or fuck him to death. He's really hoping the cowboy goes with option two, because what a hell of a way to go, and really, the cowboy ain't so bad on the eyes, and that ass. Damn.
"Gonna make you sit up and take some God damned notice, son. Gettin' tired of bein' the third wheel. Had you first, Jenny. Ain't gonna let some snot nosed kid the size of the fucking jolly green giant take ya from me," the cowboy growls as he bends down and bites into Dean's collarbone, and Dean swallows thickly as the cowboy pulls back and his tongue flickers across the bite, and Dean knows there will be a mark there come morning.
The cowboy licks and bites his way down Dean's chest, and Dean sucks in a breath when the cowboy's hand slips into his jeans, down past his boxers and curls around his hard cock. Now this is the kind of action he's been missing. This is getting to the good stuff… And this is when the cowboy grinds to a halt.
Dean's eyes fly open and he stares incredulously at the man, who's just frozen on top of him. He gives his hips a little wiggle, his cock getting a little friction in the guy's hand, and asks, "There a problem, cowboy?"
The cowboy shakes himself, comes back to the moment, but Dean gets the feeling that something has changed.
Dean is right. Things are different as the cowboy leans down, presses his lips to Dean's, his tongue slipping into his mouth, and every time Dean tries to speed things along or nip, the cowboy pulls back.
The cowboy leans down, coaxes Dean's tongue into his mouth, and sucks on it, as he slowly pulls on Dean's dick, his thumb circling the head and spreading the pre-cum, and then the cowboy pulls back, giving Dean's bottom lip a little tug before letting go, and Dean is breathless, wide-eyed, and stunned at the emotions in the cowboy's blue eyes.
"Gonna take my time. Do this right, Jenny. You gotta know. I ain't here just to fuck you. Tired of getting left behind. So tired," the cowboy says, and Dean can relate, but he really doesn't want to, so he leans up and catches the man's mouth in another kiss, that the man makes sweet and tender, just to shut him up.
The cowboy pulls back again, peppers kisses along Dean's jaw, down his throat. He's tender now, almost loving, as he flickers his tongue along the white line of the scar along his side, a close call with a kelpie from a few years back. Dean swallows thickly as the cowboy's nose nudges gently at his stomach as he kisses down further, until the cowboy reverently pulls Dean's jeans and boxers off and kisses his way back up Dean's legs.
And it's driving Dean crazy. He wants it fast and dirty, but there is something in this cowboy's eyes that holds him down, keeps him compliant. It's kinsmanship. He understands the pain of wanting and never having. Hell, he deals with Sammy every day and whenever they do get to touching each other, it's quick, and dirty, and awkward afterward. For once Dean wants to be cherished. This is probably as close as he'll get. He ain't so picky, he'll take what he can get.
He's pulled sharply from his thoughts when the cowboy's tongue flickers across the head of his cock, circling, and then that mouth is slipping down Dean's hard cock as far down as it can go, that tongue tracing and flicking along the throbbing vein on the underside of the shaft, and Dean's neck is straining with the effort to hold back most of the noises clogging up his throat.
Dean's fingers find their way into the man's shaggy brown hair, convulsing and tightening, and his thoughts drift to Sam, because long hair is something the cowboy has in common with Sam.
The cowboy knows how to work his mouth around a cock. Dean will definitely give him that, and it isn't long before he feels that tingle at the base of his spine and knows that he's about to come. The cowboy pulls backs, tugs on Dean's cock with his hand and works his way up Dean's body, until he presses a light kiss at the corner of Dean's mouth and whispers huskily, "Come for me baby, wanna see you come."
Between the rough denim of the cowboy's jeans rubbing along his thigh and that work worn and calloused hand on his cock, the sensation becomes too much and Dean is coming, over and over, his cock twitching as he groans with his release, his head thrown back and his body arched like he's just been through the wrong end of an exorcism.
Dean falls back to the bed, trying to catch his breath, his eyes wide as he turns to the cowboy, and the cowboy brings his fingers to his mouth, licking his fingers clean of Dean's release, and Dean closes his eyes against the image. He feels a shift on the bed, and opens his eyes again, to see the cowboy slipping out of his jeans, and he's impressed that the man goes commando.
The cowboy climbs back onto the bed, crawls over Dean, and bends down, kissing him. "Gonna make this so good for you," he whispers. "Promise."
He pulls back, holds his fingers to Dean's lips and Dean takes them into his mouth, tasting himself there along with the salty sweetness of the cowboy's skin. The cowboy pulls his fingers back, lets his own tongue run over his fingers, and then Dean realizes what is going on. He takes in a deep breath as that hand slips between them, and Dean can feel a single wet finger at his opening.
The finger slips in, up to the knuckle and Dean clamps down. The cowboy bends down, presses a kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth and says, "Just relax. Won't hurt long, and then it'll feel good."
Dean has an idea about that already, but he's never done this before. He takes in a few deep breaths, determined not to pussy out. He's fucked a guy before, so being fucked by one can't be too different.
He begins to relax and the finger slips inside, going deeper, and then the cowboy slips a second finger inside, and hits this spot that has Dean jerking up, and his cock is twitching and getting interested again. The cowboy scissors the two fingers inside of him, hitting that spot just enough to keep Dean hot and ready for whatever comes next, and then there's a third finger, and Dean barely registers the sound of foil being torn, until he looks down and sees the cowboy rolling a condom on with his free hand, and Dean absently wonders where the rubber came from.
He tries to scoot back on the bed when the cowboy pulls his fingers away, and then there is nothing but blunt cock at his opening, but the cowboy leans down, licks and kisses at the base of his throat, and bites down as he thrusts into Dean. It's so much like deflowering a virgin that Dean wants to laugh, but then again, he had the ass of a virgin until the cowboy decided to give him a ride.
It takes Dean a moment to adjust, but then the cowboy hits that sweet spot deep inside of him and the cowboy's hand is curled around his cock again, jerking Dean off in time with his thrusts, and Dean is being driven crazy by the duel sensations of a hand on his cock, working him to a second orgasm, and a cock buried balls deep in his ass, hitting a sweet spot that makes him see stars with almost every stroke.
He's so close to coming again, and then the cowboy slams home one last time, his body bowed, and Dean can't look away, his hips arch off the bed, with the cowboy buried inside of him, and that grip tightening on his cock, and a cry escapes the cowboy's lips. A single name.
"Jensen!"
Dean comes a second time as the cowboy rides out the rest of his orgasm and pulls out of him. Dean is exhausted, and fully fucked out for the moment. He slips down a little on the bed, and the cowboy curls up against him.
Dean puts an arm around the cowboy, surprised that it isn't as awkward as he expected it to be. Dean tilts his head and looks at the man. He's not bad on the eyes, his hair dark against Dean's chest, and his mouth is open, he's snoring lightly, and kind of drooling a little, but Dean isn't so heartless that he'd kick the guy out of bed, and it's not like Sam will be coming home…back tonight.
No. Sam is probably still driving around in his baby, pissed beyond belief and torturing the Impala with the most emo shit music he could find in the tape deck.
Dean lets out a little sigh as his eyes drift shut, and he gives in to the warmth at his side and the drool pooling on his chest.
----------
Consciousness is a blanket being thrown off of him. He has aches in places he'd rather not mention, his legs are tangled with sheets and a set of hairy legs, there's a heavy arm along his back, and a firm hand on his hip. He carefully shifts, and the man beneath him grunts and does a little roll, his hand slipping down from Chris' hip, fingers grazing along Chris' back, and Chris shivers.
He slips out of the bed carefully; his head is aching, but not as badly as other parts of him. He lets the breath out slowly and looks at the man in the bed. There is a strange grace about the man, a wariness, and Chris wonders how he could have mistaken this strange man for Jensen, how he could make love to this man instead of Jensen.
The likeness is incredible to say the least, but he should have noticed the little differences. The same lips, same set to the jaw, but this man's eyes are shadowed, careful, almost like he's afraid to really laugh, because good things don't come his way often and when they do they never last.
The freckles on the man's skin are patterned differently from Jensen's and this man's had a rough life, the subtle white lines and dips and raised creases of scars along his body are enough to attest to this fact.
Chris shakes his head a little, still digesting everything. There is still nothing resolved between him and Jensen, he's gone to bed with a man who could pass for Jensen's evil twin, and he doesn't even know the man's name.
He runs a hand through his hair, and finally gets a good look around the room. His eyes widen at the salt lining the door. So he hadn't imagined that last night.
He turns toward the rickety table in the corner of the room by the buzzing air conditioner, and nearly curses at the sight. There's an old cloth laid across the table and on the cloth are neat rows of throwing knives, a large hunting knife, a curved blade with a custom made handle, a couple of hand guns, some gun oil, barrel cleaners, and a whetstone for the knives.
He sucks in a breath and wonders just what he's gotten himself into. He then turns back to the man still lying in the bed. The man who's name he doesn't know. The man who wears the face of his best friend.
Chris heads to the bathroom to take a leak, and when he steps out of the bathroom he picks his jeans up from the floor, and slips into them, then he drags a chair across the room, turns it around, straddles it, rests his chin on the top of it and looks at the man, just watching him. Usually in the case of a one-night stand he'd just turn tail and run, but this man has Jensen's face. He made love to this man, and he can't bring himself to leave just yet.
Hell, he doesn't have a clue what he'll say, but leaving is about the furthest thing from his mind, even if good sense and those weapons over on that table are telling him otherwise.
It hasn't been long. He watches as the man shifts a little in the bed, the man's arm lifts up, and then slips under the pillow, almost like he's looking for something. He stiffens when he doesn't find what he's looking for, cracks an eye open cautiously, and sits up, the sheets pooling around his trim waist. He gives the room a glance over and when he sees Chris straddling the chair he stills, and they just look at each other.
Chris swallows, still nothing to say coming to mind.
-----------
The silence and the staring is kind of getting to him, especially considering he's facing the cowboy from the night before. He isn't prepared for this. An empty bed, a hangover, and his body languid from some really amazing fucking, that is his norm, not this cowboy straddling a chair, without a shirt on, watching him like he's about to do a trick.
Dean coughs, just to break the damn silence, and then he shifts, the sheet sliding across his waist as he turns and sets his feet on the threadbare carpet of the room.
The cowboy blinks, scratches the back of his head, and let's his gaze fall to the floor. "Christ man, you don't know how much you look like him."
"Jensen?" Dean asks.
The cowboy looks up with a start and a sheepish grin. "Guess I mighta called you that a time or two. I'm Christian, by the way. Everybody's anybody to me calls me Chris though. And who are you, not Jensen?"
"Call me Dean," he replies.
Chris nods. "Okay Dean. How 'bout you slip into something a little more decent than that sheet, I pull on my shirt and we head on over to the diner across the street and have some coffee? Least I can do. I'll even shell out for breakfast."
Dean snorts and smirks. He's never been one to turn down a free meal. If the cowboy wants to buy, that's fine with him. Hell, he can endure the awkwardness as long as the food is free, and there's a lot of it."
"All right. Think I can handle some coffee and eggs."
The cowboy nods and gets up, picks his shirt up from the floor, shrugs into it, then grabs his hat off the lamp and puts it on his head. He slips his feet into his boots, and by the time he's at the door, Dean is dressed and right behind him, a gun with the safety on tucked in the back of his jeans, his leather jacket hiding the bulge of the weapon.
Chris' eyes widen a little bit, but Dean just shrugs and says, "Never go anywhere without something to help me out of a jam if I can help it."
Chris shrugs and they walk over to the diner. They're quiet until their orders have been placed and there are a couple of steaming mugs of coffee set before them. The silence isn't uncomfortable, actually companionable, and Dean is grateful for that.
"So, who's Sammy?" Chris asks, and Dean raises a brow at him.
"That would be my little brother. We had a fight before I found my way to the bar. He took off in my car to blow off some steam, and if there's a scratch on my baby when he gets back I'm kicking his ass all the way to Albuquerque."
"What's with the arsenal?" Chris asks, curiosity winning out over self-preservation.
Dean shrugs. "Tools of the trade."
"And the salt?"
"Keeps out some pretty nasty things that go bump in the night."
Chris nods and then shakes his head. "You know, your room looked like something off a set for that show my buddy Jensen works on. Him and his new best friend, Padalecki, play these ghost bustin' brothers on some teenybopper network. A new spook every week."
Dean chokes on his coffee and scowls. "Dammit, I told Sam we never should have signed those releases when Kripke made the suggestion after we got rid of that kelpie that had taken up residence in his pool. Had a hell of a time getting rid of that sonofabitch, too."
Chris shakes his head. "So you're saying that show is real? You're one of the brothers?"
"I didn't know it was an actual show, just had money randomly show up in Sammy's bank account every month. Makes things a little easier on us since we're not running scams as much with steady money coming our way. Hunting spooks, as you put it, isn't really the best way to make money."
"I guess not. So you're the real Dean Winchester. Damn. You look just like Jensen. I'd swear you could pass more for brothers than him and his older brother Joshua," Chris says in awe.
Dean sighs. "So Kripke even used our real names. Hell, no wonder we've been getting more calls for our services. I'm sure Dad's just thrilled."
Their plates are brought out a few minutes later and then there's more of that comfortable silence followed by the sound of cutlery clanking and scraping against plates as they eat their fill.
On the way back to Dean's motel room, the conversation turns to Chris' past jobs acting and his music career with his band Kane. Chris comes to a halt behind Dean, and then he sees what Dean is looking at. There is an old classic Chevy Impala parked in front of Dean's room. Looks like a '67 to Chris, and he compliments the car, which seems to relax Dean a little.
Dean is back to being alert again, the change is obvious. Dean pulls out his key and slips it into the lock. Chris is standing behind him, wondering what's waiting in Dean's room. Curiosity the sole thing keeping him there.
As soon as the lock clicks, the door is snatched open and there standing in the doorway is a man that could honestly pass for Jared Padalecki's twin, but there's a scar along the side of the man's neck and a weariness that doesn't match the hyper grace that Padalecki has and can barely contain. Chris' eyes widen in surprise. Kripke apparently does his homework when he chooses his cast. He absently wonders if their father looks anything like Jeffrey Dean Morgan, but that thought fizzles as Sam's sharp gaze narrows on him, and there's a sinking weight deep in his gut.
Dean steps in between his brother and Christian, and Chris for the most part looks glad, and Sam looks even more pissed off. If that's even possible.
The air is charged with anger, and a lot of things that Christian doesn't want to put a name to. Almost like these men are more than brothers. Like they're lovers and he somehow got caught in between. He knows when he's not wanted, and clearly he is not wanted here, and Sam looks like he's about ready to hurt something with his bare hands.
Dean faces Sam, a cock sure smirk on his face, and Chris knows this guy's balls are bigger than his brains, and he's not taking any chances by sticking around to see what becomes of this.
Chris hedges out, calling over his shoulder, "Nice meetin' ya, Dean. If I ever need ya, I'll give ya a call. Till then set fire to the third bar, man. Catch another drink with ya later."
Dean grins as the cowboy slips out and then he faces the wrath of his jealous brother. He smiles as Sam growls, yanks him into the room, kicks the door shut, shoves him down on the bed, and finally claims what's his.
End.
