Archive of Our Own

Jess looks up from his book as the door to the apartment swings open, revealing a rushed-looking Luke who barely spares him a glance as he barrels toward the fridge, opens it and pulls out a beer, cracking it and swigging a quarter of it in one go. 

Jess snorts.

“How’d you manage to screw up that much in such a short time?”

Luke finally seems to register his presence and looks over. 

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” He asks, still a little out of breath from what sounded like a frantic trip up the stairs. “I didn’t screw anything up.”

Jess raises his eyebrows.

“Then what’s with the  I-just-had-a-hard-day-pass-the-liquor act? I just left you and Nicole downstairs and everything was cool. She said the date went well. Did you piss her off or something? Forget your stack of conversation starter flashcards? I’m sure Kirk has extras.”

“What the — no, things are fine, I —”

“Okay, well, you’re acting like an insane person. Oh no — did she try to make a move on you? Did she make you uncomfortable, Uncle Lukie? Cause you’re never too old to know the importance of good touch versus bad touch —“

“Jesus, do you ever shut the hell up?” Luke sets the half-finished beer on the counter and turns fully to him. 

And see, normally, this would be the point where Jess would disengage, go back to his book and pretend he doesn’t give a shit whether people think he talks too much. Whether he’s normal.

But he’s bored tonight; Rory is at the hospital with her dad’s girlfriend, being useful and relevant and wanted — not even just wanted. More than that. Requested.

Plus, he’s had an itch under his skin ever since a certain 6’4” asshole waltzed into the diner earlier that day, placing the most pain in the ass order Jess has ever taken, and being a smug, condescending prick while he was at it.

So Jess isn’t in the mood to disengage just yet.

“Well what happened?” He questions. “I mean come on, you storm in here, slam a beer, don’t even bother to close the door. Don’t tell me Lorelai showed up? Now that would piss Nicole off…”

Luke steps closer and makes his ‘what the hell is wrong with you’ face for the second time that evening. Probably the tenth time that day.

“Alright, enough, smart guy. Lorelai didn’t show up, I, miraculously, managed not to make a fool of myself at dinner and Nicole is fine. In fact everyone is, except, as usual, for you.”

Jess runs his tongue over his teeth, eyes dropping back to the open book he holds. “And the door?”

Luke pauses long enough that Jess looks up, briefly.

“I didn’t close it because I’m leaving.”

That gets his attention. Jess raises an eyebrow.

“Like I said,” Luke continues, shifting a bit under Jess’s gaze. “Things with Nicole went well. We’re, uh, going back to her place for a drink. I’ll… I’ll probably stay the night.”

Luke says the last bit with a reddening neck and an uncomfortable pull at his collar. 

Jess’s careful indifference breaks into a slow smile.

“Holy shit.”

“Shut up.”

“Holy shit.”

“Language, she’s right downstairs, the hell’s the matter with you?” Luke shout-whispers.

Jess lets his book fall to the mattress as he cackles, standing up to walk closer to his uncle.

“You know downstairs I offered to disappear for an hour, and you told me to fuck off —"

“Language —"

“Guess you did need longer than an hour. Here I thought I was being generous.”

Luke looks to the ceiling, jaw working.

“Why do I tell you anything?”

Jess is still laughing.

“You gotta be kidding me — you actually escaped up here to psych yourself up? Needed some liquid courage to go home with a girl?”

“She’s a woman and please, for the love of all that is holy, stop talking.”

“Or were you hoping for some advice? Cause I gotta say, the beer-breath is quite the choice. She definitely won’t notice that… Unless you want her to think you’re so uninterested in her that you have to get drunk to go home with her.”

Luke freezes, the bottle halfway to his lips, and slams it back to the counter with a tight frown, foam racing to the top of the bottle. Jess smiles, smug, and mimes zipping his lips with an angelic look. 

Luke sighs. “Forget it. She’s waiting, I’m leaving, just thought you should know.”

He pats his pocket for his keys, and heads to the door, leaving the rest of the bottle of beer abandoned and turning sharply before he walks out, pointing an accusatory finger at Jess.

“No Rory, no girls, no parties, no bullshit. And stay out of my beer.”

Jess just nods, raising his eyebrows in mock sincerity and keeping his lips pressed together. 

Luke shakes his head and closes the door behind him.

Jess waits until his footsteps descend the stairs completely and the diner bell jingles before he drains the remaining contents of the bottle, chucking it into the trash before grabbing a new one from the fridge, still chuckling to himself. He’s barely pulled it out before the door behind him opens again.

“What, you need condoms? They’re in my nightstand, you monk,” he says without turning around, blocking the bottle with his body.

“You forgot the extra pickles, you know.”

Jess whips around so fast he nearly knocks the fresh bottle off the counter, catching it just as it reaches the edge.

Dean smiles, far too pleased at having caught Jess by surprise. His eyes flick to the bottle in Jess’s hand.

“What, not gonna offer me one?”

Jess scowls. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Is he here to fight? To finally make good on the casual threats they’ve been flinging at each other for a year? Jess finds himself almost craving it. Leaning toward Dean’s towering figure across the kitchen table, cause at least a fist across his jaw would feel like something. 

“I’m a paying customer and I have a complaint about an order — say, does the diner have a suggestion box? Cause I have a few.”

“Diner’s closed. How the hell'd you even get in? What, you get the keys to the city now that you're Taylor’s best boy?”

Dean grins, sharp, and Jess cracks the bottle of beer open, needing something to do other than stare at his perfect, mocking face.

“Luke let me in as he was leaving. Oh, that’s right,” he snaps the fingers of one huge hand, smirking. “He says to tell you to lock up after I leave.”

“And when might that be?”

“Ouch. So unwelcoming.”

Dean lets the door to the apartment swing shut behind him with a heavy thud, and takes two steps closer, his eyes on Jess the whole time.

Jess takes a swig of the beer, refusing to break eye contact with Dean and tracking the nervous energy suddenly sparking down his spine. His pulse picks up, because for whatever stupid fucking reason, he doesn’t want Dean to leave. They could tear apart the apartment fighting, grappling until the curtains were torn and the table was cracked in two, and it would be preferable to spending the night reading in his bed, alone.

He rolls his eyes and cracks his neck, shaking off that train of thought and opting for casual disdain.

“Why are you here, Dean?” 

Dean just shakes his head, smirk still firmly in place. Jess takes another gulp of beer. Any minute now, Dean is going to grab him by the collar. Tell him he’s finally going to put him in his place, finally shut him up. And Jess is going to welcome it.

Dean slaps a manila folder on the kitchen table. Jess hadn’t even noticed he was holding it.

“Taylor has some contract addendums —”

“Wow, big word, look at you!”

Dean carries on like he hadn’t heard him, “some contract addendums for Luke to look over and sign. Luke said to leave them up here so they don’t get lost in the diner during the morning rush.”

Jess swallows. Luke must have been in a vengeful mood, sending Dean up here when he knew Jess wasn’t expecting it.

He takes another long drink of beer, pulling the bottle away from his lips with a slurp. Dean’s eyes flick to his lips, and he can feel the beer left on them, foamy and cold. He licks it off.

“Boy, you sure are a stand up kid. Puttin’ in work after hours and everything. But surely your Boy Scout vest is too full for any more badges — or do you just do this shit for a pat on the head and the satisfaction of a job well done?”

Dean doesn’t even flinch. He grins, even snickers a bit, no anger to be found, and Jess’s stomach does a stupid little flip. 

It was easier before. When Dean was still dating Rory and had to be careful about how openly he hated Jess. He’d been so broody, so easy to rile up all the time; it had become something of a game, seeing how easily Jess could get underneath the taller boy’s skin with just a few words.

But now, things are different. Jess is the one with Rory; Jess is the one caged in a relationship and Dean is free to be a shit to Jess, to push his buttons as openly and as often as he likes. And lately, that was fucking often.

And every time, it left Jess feeling like something was unfinished.

Jess stalks forward, around the table to where Dean stands. He swallows another large gulp of beer before setting the bottle on the table.

“Well. Folder’s here, safe and sound. Good boy,” he says, lifting a hand to pat Dean on the head.

Dean seizes his wrist abruptly, his hand so big his fingers and thumb overlap themselves closing around it.

Jess’s pulse picks up again; yes, this is it. Squeeze me, bruise me, hurt me, mark me. Do something. He yanks at his wrist, expecting Dean to fight back, but he releases him easily. He doesn’t look or move away from Jess, though, his hazel eyes burning into Jess’s until Jess is the one who has to look away. 

“One more thing,” Dean says, and that’s when Jess realizes that he’s staring at Dean’s mouth. That’s what he’d looked away to. Great job, dumbass. He takes a step back, picking his beer back up.

“What.”

“I’m done.”

Jess blinks. 

“Done with what,” he says around the mouth of the bottle, raising one eyebrow and feigning disinterest as hard as he can, because it’s the only way to combat the dread that’s climbing up his chest. Because if Dean means what Jess thinks he means then he means he’s done with Jess. Done with whatever little game they’ve been playing all this time, done fighting for dominance, done having verbal battles and knocking his shoulder against him in the hallway at school and towering over him and looking at him like he’s a piece of shit. 

And that’s just one more person to add to the list of people who’ve washed their hands of him.

His mother. His father. His entire family, in fact, except for Luke. Luke too, once he catches on that Jess isn’t following his rules, isn’t going to graduate, isn’t going to be worth anything, ever. Rory, soon enough, when she realizes the same thing. 

At least when Dean is looking at him like he’s a piece of shit, he’s looking at him.

“Done with Rory.”

Jess freezes, his internal monologue barely shutting up in time to hear the words Dean just said. He clears his throat.

“You came here to tell me you’re done with my girlfriend? Yeah, I figured that out, right around the time she became my girlfriend. Real good of you to make a house call and confirm, but gee, I’m fresh out of gold star stickers —”

“You know what I mean, Jess.”

And there. It’s the way Dean says his name. Crisp. Low. Usually full of disdain, but tonight it’s devoid of it. Jess almost misses it, the disdain. It’s something.

Jess brings his eyes up to meet Dean’s again. 

“I’m not sure I do, Dean.” He makes his voice as sarcastic as he can, to make up for Dean’s sounding so empty.

Dean smirks for what must be the fifth time that night, and pulls the bottle of beer out of Jess’s hand. Jess lets him, feeling insane for it, but what the hell? He’s in uncharted territory, and he’s curious by nature. Dean tips his head back, finishing the whole thing in just a few swallows, and Jess stares at his throat the whole time since Dean can’t see him looking.

“I mean,” Dean says when he’s finished, setting the empty bottle back onto the table, “that she’s all yours. I’m done trying to get her back. It’s a waste of my time and energy. And I already gave her three years too many of both of those.”

Jess works his jaw, thrown off and irritated.

“And you came all the way here, after dark, just to tell me about this…little epiphany? Why?”

Dean snorts.

“‘After dark?’ You sound like Taylor. Are you worried about me violating the town curfew?”

“Well I sure didn’t peg you as a rebel.” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Jess.”

“I know you respect this town and all its bullshit a hell of a lot more than you respect me, so what gives?”

“Aw, you jealous?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Dean huffs a quiet laugh and studies Jess’s face for a few moments. Jess keeps his jaw tight, refusing to look away this time.

“You may not know much about me, but I know you, Jess. I know you’re not gonna graduate — hell, half the class knows it.”

Jess grits his teeth, finally looking away with a dismissive shake of his head as Dean continues.

“I know Rory’s gonna leave your ass behind once she gets into one of those Ivy Leagues. Maybe not right away, but eventually. You know it too.”

Jess glares up at him, even though he’s not even angry, not really. For once Dean doesn’t look condescending, or hateful, or even pitying. Just matter of fact. And that’s all it is. It’s all facts.

“All that, plus the sorry state of the sandwiches today—”

Jess snorts as Dean continues. 

“Let’s just say I can tell you have enough to deal with without looking over your shoulder for me, wondering if I’m gonna show up and try to steal your girlfriend,” he punctuates the last three words with a wiggle of his fingers in the air, like he’s a bogeyman. Jess’s eyes catch on the long digits. He drags his gaze away as Dean finishes. “I’m over it, this — the drama, the threats.”

There it is. Jess works his jaw again, actual anger welling up in him for the first time during Dean’s little speech.

“Yeah? Then what the fuck are you doing here? You don’t have to break up with me too, Dean, I’m a big boy.”

That’s what it feels like, too. A fucking breakup, but with even less regard. Like he’s trash that Dean is tossing into the dumpster behind Doose’s. 

“Really? Cause it kinda seems like your feelings are hurt,” Dean shoots back. “Gonna miss me, is that it?”

His voice is taunting, soft and melodic like it always is, and Jess fucking hates it. He hates that Dean looks like that, sounds like that. He’s a masterpiece of unattainable, all-American perfection, and Jess wants to ruin him, tear at him until he’s on the same level as Jess, for once. He’s tried, with his words, even with his fists, once. It never works. 

“Don’t tell me you’re bored with her already,” Dean continues, oblivious to Jess’s thoughts.

When Jess doesn’t respond, Dean scoffs, shaking his head.

“I fucking knew it, I knew you would be. I told Rory that you were messing with me, and she never believed me, she —”Deans cuts himself off, shaking his head again. “Whatever. She’s not my problem anymore, and if you break her heart because she’s not entertaining enough without a rival, that’s on her. Not like this entire town didn’t warn her not to waste her time on you.”

“Oh fuck you, I care about Rory,” Jess growls, turning around and stalking back toward the fridge, shoulders hitching in anger. He’s so tired of defending himself, and it’s all he ever does in this bullshit town.

“Yeah?” Dean taunts, following him. Jess spins around, nostrils flared.

“Yeah.”

“Then why do you always look at me like that, huh?” Dean challenges, pressing forward until Jess’s lower back is pressed against the countertop, until he has to crane his neck to look Dean in the eyes, and he hates it. He hates it. He loves it. 

“Look at you like what,” he grits. Dean leans even closer, his hands landing on either side of the counter behind Jess, until Jess can feel his body heat, can smell the faint beer on his breath. He was wrong before. It doesn’t smell bad. It smells fucking intoxicating.

“Like I’m the most interesting thing that’s happened to you since you got here. You don’t want me to be done, do you? Cause you want to keep fucking with me until I finally do something about it.”

Jess’s mouth opens to retort, but for once there’s nothing. He can’t deny a single word Dean has said, and the way he’s looking at him now is too dangerously exciting to resist. A shiver runs down his spine and he presses his face up into Dean’s space, unsure if the other man is going to throttle him or devour him. Either way, he welcomes it.

“So do something about it.”

Dean’s hazel eyes darken as he studies Jess’s for a single, crackling moment before he yanks Jess in by the collar of his shirt. He does it with such force that for half a moment Jess thinks he might be trying to fight him, but then Dean’s lips are pressing against his, hot and forceful, and the fingers of one huge hand are raking against his scalp and oh fuck. He wants this bad — this is what he’s been craving. This is their unfinished business.

Dean does devour him, his mouth hungry and ferocious against Jess’s, and Jess matches his energy, electricity humming through every nerve in his body, making him arch into Dean, making his chest heave like he’s having a panic attack.

He keeps his hands pinned to the counter behind him, too terrified of what they’d do if he let them roam free, but Dean seems to have no such concern. He yanks at Jess, fingers of one hand still dragging through his hair while the other grips his wrist where it presses against the formica, like he wants to hold him in place.

The hand in his hair makes its way to his jaw, pulling his mouth tighter against Dean’s, and he grunts when Dean’s tongue laps against his bottom lip, regretting it instantly when Dean stops the movement, pulling back a hair’s breadth to huff in his face and smirk yet again.

“Always fucking pushing me, acting like such a shit. All you wanted was my attention, is that it?”

Humiliation and annoyance flare in Jess and he brings his hands up to shove Dean away, to pretend that Dean crossed the line, to kick the shit out of him for it, even if it’s a bald-faced lie. But the moment his hands are on Dean’s chest Dean closes in again, sucking Jess’s lower lip into his mouth and picking up where he left off, tugging at Jess’s hips until they press against him and then running his hands up Jess’s sides.

His hands are fiery hot as they slip under Jess’s shirt, branding him and making him jolt. Dean drags his mouth away from Jess’s lips and starts nipping, kissing, sucking along his jaw.

“Jump,” he murmurs into his ear, then promptly continues sucking on the spot just below it.

“Wh-what?” Jess asks, breathless already but helpless to try and pretend that he isn’t.

Dean chuckles, a silky sound that wraps around Jess’s skull, and the hands around his bare waist give his sides a squeeze. God, his hands are big. Jess is on the small side, he knows, he fucking hates it most of the time, but goddamn. He wonders what Dean’s hands look like wrapped around Rory’s bare, porcelain skin. The thought should make him feel guilty, probably, but it just turns him on more.

“Jump, and I’ll lift you onto the counter,” Dean murmurs distractedly, now ravaging a spot on Jess’s neck that no one has ever paid nearly enough attention to.

“Fuck that, I’m not some girl you can toss around,” he huffs, prying at Dean’s forearms, but Dean is unrelenting, strong and determined, despite his laughter.

“Come on, my back hurts from hunching.”

“Well, wasn’t it like this with Rory?” Jess bites out.

He hates himself instantly for bringing her up like that. It’s what he gets for letting thoughts of her enter his mind during a time like this.

Dean stops his work on Jess’s neck, pulling back and pinning him with a look that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“No. Not even close,” he says.

Heat blooms in Jess’s cheeks and he doesn’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing but he does know that he wants to move things along and pretend he never asked that stupid question.

“Yeah, well. You’re too goddamn tall, it’s fucking ridiculous,” he mutters, then hitches himself onto the counter. Call it a peace offering.

Dean relaxes and closes the gap immediately, hands diving under Jess’s shirt again, groping at his waist like he too is shocked by the circumference in relation to his palms.

“And you’re tiny,” he says, and Jess’s cheeks redden again, out of anger and arousal all the same.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You want me to stop?”

Dean’s grinning, the shit. But his face is flushed. His lips are puffy from being dragged against Jess’s skin, his mouth, his teeth. His eyes are just this side of glazed over, gleaming with a hunger that Jess knows all too well.

“That’s not what I said, dumbass,” Jess bites.

“No?” he whispers, knocking the back of Jess’s head against a cabinet door with the force of his mouth on his. He pulls back after the searing kiss. “Then say it, Jess. Tell me to stay. Tell me to keep going.”

Jess scowls at him, grips at his shirt and tries to pull him back in but Dean resists, and Jess isn’t weak, but he’s no match for Dean, not really. Not when he feels like this.

“What, all of sudden you have nothing to say?”

Jess grits his teeth and drops his hands.

“You can get the hell out if this is some kind of power trip, Dean. I’m not your puppet and I’m not gonna dance on command. If that’s what you want, go fuck a cheerleader.”

Dean’s smirk falls off his face for what feels like the first time all night. His gaze darkens on Jess and when he moves closer, Jess doesn’t stop him. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs through his frown, catching Jess’s lips again in the softest kiss he’s given him so far. 

I’m not going anywhere — the lie wraps around Jess like a snake, but he ignores the fangs, the poison. He can have this, just for tonight. He can have this. 

Dean pulls back, heavy-lidded eyes flicking between Jess’s. “I didn’t want you to say that shit so I could be a controlling asshole. It’s just…every day in this town is like a fucking… circus act. I just wanted us to be honest. For once. Can we?”

Jess lets his shoulders drop, leans his head back against the cabinets and meets Dean’s gaze. His eyes are glittering, maybe with hope, or maybe it’s just the poison. “Yeah. We can be honest, Dean. Tonight.”

The qualifier shutters Dean’s gaze, but he doesn’t pull away. He slides a hand behind Jess’s neck, pulls him back to him, and then he’s kissing him again.

Jess finally gives in to the urge to sink his fingers into Dean’s hair, to scratch at his scalp and pull on the shiny brown locks, liking the way it makes Dean’s breath hitch every time. 

He can see why Rory and Dean spent so much time sucking face when he first moved here; Dean’s tongue is fucking addictive. 

And if his tongue is addictive, his hands are worse. They’ve barely left Jess’s skin since this shit started, and Jess is pretty sure he’s gonna have bruises in the shape of Dean’s fingertips dotting his sides. The thought makes him feel so viciously giddy he bites hard into Dean’s lower lip, makes him moan.

Dean seems to lose a bit of his control then; he pulls Jess off the countertop, sending him stumbling into his chest, and then he presses him toward his bed, kissing him as he goes and pulling impatiently at his shirt.

They crash onto the mattress before he can get it off, and he makes a frustrated sound, hovering over Jess and propping himself on one elbow to push at the hem of Jess’s shirt with his free hand.

“Get this damn thing off,” he pants, and Jess is panting right along with him, beyond his own ability to make any kind of witty remark.

“Yeah,” is all he can manage as he sits up, yanking his shirt over his head and stopping to look at Dean before his hands float down to his pants, unsure.

Dean’s eyes are caught on his collarbones, then his chest, then down the lines of his abs until he finally seems to notice that Jess’s hand is hovering over his belt buckle, waiting. 

He locks eyes with Jess as he slips his hand underneath Jess’s, pulling the leather through the metal loop. 

Jess’s breath comes faster, faster as Dean undresses him until he’s almost bare. He catches Dean’s wrist at the hem of his boxers, and gives him a you’re kidding, right? look, not willing to be the only one naked while Dean wears all his clothes. 

He can acknowledge that he doesn’t trust this, yet. That a part of him is waiting for Dean to say something shitty about how this was all to get back at him for stealing Rory, and stalk off down the stairs, leaving Jess naked and alone.

Dean just cracks a grin and raises his arms in a little mock surrender before reaching and pulling his own shirt over his head. A moment later his pants hit the floor with a soft ruffle against the wood, and Jess’s attention is claimed by the sight of him, clad only in his underwear, crawling over Jess to press him against the mattress.

Jess allows himself to be pulled back under, kissing Dean fierce and hot, arching his back when Dean drags his mouth down the side of his neck. Dean’s chest pressing against his feels electric, his long, muscular leg in between Jess’s demanding and hot. Dean’s hands are all over him, fingernails raking and calluses scraping against him. After a moment, Jess’s boxer briefs are shoved down at the back and Dean’s hand is firmly gripping one ass cheek, squeezing and kneading it in his hand like he’s trying to see how much of it he can fit in one massive palm.

Jess would almost be embarrassed if Dean wasn’t laving his tongue against a sensitive spot on Jess’s neck like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. His voice comes from that spot, muffled against Jess’s damp skin.

“Wanna fucking… leave marks on you,” he says, almost growling, and Jess would make fun of how possessive Dean always is if it wasn’t for how the words send a thrill down his spine and an extra pump of blood to his already hard dick.

“Do it then,” he challenges, snaking fingers into Dean’s stupidly silky hair and shoving him harder against his neck. Dean doesn’t cooperate.

“Careful Jess,” Dean hisses into his ear instead. “Wouldn’t want your girlfriend to get suspicious, now would we?”

His words are laced with a venom that Jess thinks he probably deserves, and maybe earlier tonight he would have wanted to punch Dean over something like that. But by now he’s chosen his path, and it’s certainly not to fight.

“Lower then,” is all he says, and Dean pulls back, does that sexy, questioning thing with his eyebrows that he does.

And wow, okay, Jess finds it sexy. He always has, he realizes. Interesting. He clears his throat, weakly, distracted by the way Dean’s thumb is absentmindedly rubbing against the skin of his abdomen. He swallows and forces the words out.

“She won’t see it, if you do it places my shirt would cover.”

Dean’s look of confusion increases.

“Wait, so… you two haven’t…?”

“No.” Jess really doesn’t want to talk about this right now. But now he needs to know... “I mean, did you two ever —”

“No,” Dean says quickly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Dean says nothing, chewing on his lip and looking unsure for the first time since he walked in. Jess can’t find the courage to say keep going so he looks away and presses Dean’s head past his collarbone, and Dean chuckles.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go lower,” he says, voice vibrating against Jess’s skin.

“Good boy,” Jess mutters, but Dean only smiles, teeth scraping against his skin, and keeps on his path. He doesn’t hold back now, sucking a hickey just under Jess’s collarbone, then sinking down to work on another one against the skin of his ribs. 

His hand slips over Jess’s clothed cock while he does, rubbing against it insistently until it’s grown impossibly harder, straining against the fabric, a dark wet spot soaking through at the tip. He’s rough with it, tugging the fabric tight against him so that it scratches against the hypersensitive skin.

Jess moans, quiet, but unable to keep the sound in. His knuckles are white where he grips the sheets on either side of him; he’s still hesitant about where he touches Dean, how much. But as he looks down at Dean laid out over him, golden-bronze smooth and unmarked, he’s reminded again of his fantasy of tearing the other boy down until he’s no longer the picture of perfection, and he licks his lips. This is more than likely his only chance. 

Before he can move his hands, Dean lifts up, hovering his face over Jess’s, hand still holding his cock in a death grip.

“I wanna fuck you.”

Jess’s stomach swoops, his jaw falling open before he can catch it.

He can’t do anything but breath, fast and rough, unable to look away from Dean’s clouded hazel eyes.

“Jess?”

Insecurity is creeping into Dean’s gaze and Jess can’t stand it so he smacks a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down into a hard kiss. Dean melts immediately, body and mouth molding to his like they’ve been doing this for months and not minutes. Maybe they have, in a way.

“Jess,” Dean breathes into his mouth. “Did you — mmh — did you hear me?”

Nerves skitter up and down Jess’s spine, warning and wanting fighting for dominance in his brain. He can’t speak. He nods. Dean pulls back a hair’s breadth from his lips.

“Yes you h-heard me, or yes to —”

“Both,” Jess relents, pressing his forehead to Dean’s and keeping his eyes squeezed shut, refusing to look at him properly. A large, warm palm slides down his side, rubbing at his waist soothingly, and Jess hates that it helps. 

Dean is hesitant when he speaks, all his bravado from before seeming to dissolve on the spot.

“So. You want me to —”

“Yes.”

“As-as in, you want me to be the one to, like, be on top — because that’s what I want, but —”

Jess huffs impatiently.

“Yes, the way you want it, that’s how I want it too.”

A pause.

“Are you sure? You seem —”

“Dean.”

At his name, Dean relaxes, rolling his eyes at himself.

“Sorry, I just…”

“S’okay,” Jess murmurs, pulling him in again. Dean sinks into the kiss, then drags his lips along Jess’s jaw, his cheek. 

“Have you done it before? With… another guy? Like… all the way?” He asks in Jess’s ear, like he’s too scared to look him in the face. 

Jess is glad for it, as a parade of images flash through his mind. The record store in the city, tattooed knuckles and shaggy blonde hair, a five o’clock shadow scratchy against his skin, a flannel shirt and a condom wrapper on the floor of his tiny, shitty apartment bedroom. Weed smoke and fingers spreading him open. The front door slamming shut after, as he lay there alone, spent and used, high from the pot and the pleasure-pain both.

He clenches his jaw against the influx of memories, only now noticing Dean studying his face with interest. 

“Yeah,” he finally mumbles. “You?” He already knows the answer.

Dean shakes his head, eyes not leaving Jess’s. 

“Uh. Well. Not with a guy,” he clarifies. 

“It’s different. You can’t… it’s not like it is with a girl.”

“I know.”

“Do you,” Jess deadpans. 

“Yes! I…” Dean lifts himself up onto his elbow, hovering over Jess with an annoyed look on his face. It’s fucking cute. Jess wants to die.

“For your information, I read a book about it.”

Jess snorts, and Dean’s confused face comes back.

“What?”

“Nothing. You can read?”

Dean’s mouth pinches in frustration, and Jess can’t help it. He smiles. The annoyance melts slowly from Dean’s features as he studies Jess’s face for a long moment, pinched up eyebrows the last to go.

“I didn’t even know you could do that,” he says.

“What, mouth off? Where the hell have you been, Forester?”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head and looking away for a moment. He rubs his hand along Jess’s side again, and god it feels good. It’s fucking weird.

“I didn’t know you could smile,” he says. “At least not without being a sarcastic piece of shit.”

Jess raises his eyebrows and tilts his head to the side. “Huh. Learn a new thing every day, don’t we?” 

Dean smiles, shakes his head. Kisses him again. 

This is the nicest they’ve ever been to each other. Jess is a little freaked, but thankfully the heat of their kiss keeps things in a safer place. When Dean pulls back, Jess has to wrangle his brain into submission to focus on their previous conversation and not on the way Dean’s cock is pressing into his thigh.

“So what did you get out of this book you read — other than your name added to the Stars Hollow Library Deviant Watchlist?”

“I — it was — god, this —” he drops his head onto Jess’s shoulder, soft hair tickling his cheek. “This is so embarrassing.” 

Jess’s fingers curl into the strands for a moment. He’s still smiling.

“Hey, you had your hand down the back of my pants five minutes ago, the least you could do is man up and —”

Dean shifts quickly, grabbing both of Jess’s wrists in his hands and pinning them to the bed just above either side of Jess’s head.

“Shut up, okay? I’m trying, I just…”

Dean’s voice trails off as he notices the state Jess is in — and Jess can’t even bring himself to try to hide it, the way the manhandling turned him on. He knows his mouth is open, knows his pupils are blown, cheeks hot with blush. 

Dean’s breaths come faster, heavier, and he leans down, ghosting his lips across Jess’s. 

“You liked that, huh?”

Jess doesn’t respond, refusing to give him that much, but he flicks his tongue out and catches it on Dean’s lower lip, dragging it across the soft, puffy skin.

Deans lets out a shaky breath, and then he’s kissing him again. Jess had started to go a bit soft while they talked, but he chubs up again immediately, dick straining against his underwear, pressing up and into Dean’s lower abdomen when he lifts his hips. They go on for a minute or two, smiles and laughter gone, hips grinding into one another.

“You said something about condoms in the nightstand?” Dean mutters against his lips, and it takes Jess a moment to realize he’s referring to the comment Jess had made when he thought Dean was Luke. 

In lieu of answering, he tugs until Dean lets go of his wrist, then throws a hand over to the drawer next to them and yanks it out, breaking their kiss to reach in and toss out a foil wrapped condom and then reaching back in, digging a bit to get the lube out of its semi-hidden spot. Dean looks at it, cheeks reddening. Jess smirks.

“You sure that book was enough? You need some direction, golden boy?”

Dean’s eyes flash at him, annoyance dissolving his embarrassment, and he kisses him fiercely on the mouth before he slinks down his body, tugging at his waistband in a quick warning before he yanks it down and off Jess’s ankles, exposing him completely.

Jess gulps, and Dean seems to notice, smiling wickedly as he presses his hands behind Jess’s knees and pushes them up, spreading Jess wide until it’s his turn to be red, face flushed down to his chest.

“Like this?” Dean asks, head tilted to the side innocently but voice mocking.

Jess grits his teeth and lets his head fall back, refusing to respond, until he feels the hot, wet heat of a tongue dragging up the length of his dick.

His head snaps up, watching as Dean circles his tongue around the tip, eyebrows scrunched again like he’s focusing hard, lips closing over the top and sucking softly.

“Fuck,” Jess curses and Dean looks up, the head of Jess’s cock popping out of his mouth adorably. 

Dean looks down like he’s surprised, then takes one hand from behind Jess’s knee to wrap it around the shaft and guide it back to his lips. He wraps them around it again determinedly, and it bumps against his teeth for a moment and fuck, it’s so cute and hot and overwhelming at the same time that all Jess can do is drop his head back onto the pillow and pant through his open mouth, hands squeezing at the bedsheets again.

Dean starts to bob his head in earnest, more than making up for his lack of skill with enthusiasm. Jess lets one hand bury itself in Dean’s hair, and drapes the other arm across his eyes, feeling too exposed. He’s barely even registered that his cock has left the wet heat of Dean’s mouth when he hears the click of the lube bottle popping open. He snaps his head up again, just in time to see Dean drizzling it onto his fingers.

Dean’s gaze flicks up to him. 

“Like this, right?” He repeats, this time looking far too unsure for how sexy he looks and sounds. 

“Y-yeah,” Jess breathes. 

“And then…” Dean brings his fingers below Jess’s balls, slides until he finds his puckered hole. He presses against it softly with one slick fingertip, making Jess hiss and flop back against the pillows again. Dean freezes.

“Um. Good?”

“Mhmm,” is Jess’s strangled response. The crack in his voice seems to encourage Dean though, because he presses against his hole again, his other hand wrapping back around Jess’s cock, still warm and tacky from his spit.

Dean jerks him off, slow and dragging, while he works in one finger past the first knuckle. He gives it an experimental curl and Jess jolts, and it’s enough to bring Dean lurching clumsily forward, pressing his mouth hot to Jess’s while his finger circles gently inside of him.

“It feels…nice,” he says, in between kisses. “Tight. Soft.”

“Who you calling soft, golden boy?” Jess breathes, and Dean chuckles, pulling his finger out only to nudge back in with two. He dips his head back down to kiss Jess’s face as Jess bites his lip against the stretch. 

“Like velvet,” Dean says.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jess grits out, hips shifting as he accommodates the long fingers. 

“I don’t know if I will,” Dean murmurs, but his words are shaky, his breath catching as he spreads his fingers and presses them up again, this time hitting Jess’s prostate dead on.

“Oh fuck,” Jess blurts, voice coming out a lot higher pitched than he wishes it would, but then he’s burying his face in Dean’s neck, breathing against him as Dean starts to fuck his fingers in and out, a remarkably quick learner.

“More — more lube,” Jess pants after a moment and Dean clambers back down, squirting an obscene amount of the thick liquid onto his fingers and flicking his gaze up at Jess for permission before sliding two fingers back in, straight up to the second knuckle. 

“Another one,” Jess directs, eyes crossing and falling closed as Dean works a third finger into him, pumping slowly. It’s when Jess’s eyes are squeezed shut that Dean decides to take him back into his mouth, startling him and forcing a sharp groan out of his mouth. 

After a while, Jess sinks his fingers back into Dean’s hair, not to push him down, but to pull him off every time he gets too close to coming. Each time it happens Dean gets more impatient, tongue lolling out of his mouth like he wants nothing more than Jess’s dick back on it and it makes something inside Jess snap. 

“I’m ready,” he blurts, chest heaving. It takes Dean a second to focus his gaze; he looks fucked out already.

“Ready?”

“Put the condom on, idiot,” he says, breathless but smirking, and Dean smiles.

When he rises up onto his knees and pulls down his boxers, Jess has to close his mouth to stop from drooling. Dean wraps a hand around himself, shuddering a bit, and it’s only then that Jess realizes how long he’s gone untouched. He catches Dean’s eye, looks down pointedly, then back up.

“C’mere.”

Dean slinks forward, eyes half lidded and questioning, and Jess leans up on his elbows, taking the long, thick length in his hand and dragging his tongue across the tip. God, he’s big here, just like the rest of him.

Jess drops open his jaw and takes him down as far as he can at the strange angle, Dean cursing and falling forward to catch himself on the wall behind Jess’s head. 

Jess works him up for a minute or two before he tears open the condom, sliding it onto him and then adding some more lube. When he looks up, Dean is looking down at himself with wide eyes.

“You good?” Jess asks.

“Y-yeah, I — that felt really good,” he says, a note of surprise in the husky tone. So honest.

“Yeah, well, time to return the favor, Boy Scout,” Jess says, nudging Dean’s hip and easing it backward so that he slides down the bed again, aligning their hips.

“You’re, uh, you’re sure?” Dean says, poorly stifling a gasp when the tip of his dick catches against Jess’s slick, stretched rim. So considerate. 

“Ask me that one more fucking time —”

Dean presses forward, cock nudging into Jess and making him hiss. He arches upward, and one of Dean’s arms comes to wrap around his back and squeeze tight, his mouth dropping back down to the side of Jess’s face.

“I got you,” he murmurs into his ear, and Jess wants to say fuck off I’m not a goddamn princess but he lets Dean have his protective hero moment. He slides deeper, and Jess gives in even more, relaxing his muscles, burying his face into Dean’s neck again, gritting his teeth tight against another obscene moan, holding it in until he can’t.

“Fuck,” he says, knowing damn well it came out like a whimper, and Dean shushes him, hands in his hair, on his face. 

“Shh, I have you, I have you, fuck you feel good,” Dean babbles, his hips trembling from the effort of holding back. Like he’s being careful with Jess. It makes him want to throw up, suddenly.

He needs more time to adjust, but he can’t stand the idea of laying here like this, sharing Dean’s breaths and looking into his eyes while he takes it slow. 

“M’okay, go faster,” Jess mumbles into Dean’s neck, and Dean shudders, lifting himself onto his hands on either side of Jess’s face. He pumps his hips once experimentally and then harder, picking up his pace until he’s shaking the headboard, making it knock against the wall while Jess’s eyes roll back in his head.

It’s almost cute, at first, Dean fucking him with the clumsy energy of a puppy, but after a minute or two it becomes brutal. Jess loves it, relishes in the roughness, but Dean doesn’t know that he’s going too deep, too fast, and it’s starting to hurt a lot and before he can stop himself he blurts, “slow down,” through gritted teeth, and Dean stops abruptly, panting and sweating above him. He looks like a fucking angel. Jess is almost disappointed that he listened.

“Huh?”

Jess huffs out a laugh, ass sore but dick still rock hard. Dean looks confused and apologetic, and he can’t stand it.

“Come down here,” he mutters.

Dean sinks onto his elbows, the pinched eyebrow questioning look still on his face. 

“What’s wrong? Was I too much?” Dean asks, like the fucking golden retriever that he is, and Jess almost rolls his eyes because the answer is both yes and no.

“Just for a sec,” he says.

“Shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?” Dean’s tone turns frantic quick, one hand ghosting over Jess’s abdomen, his hips, like he can make it better with warm, gentle touches. Jess hates how good it feels.

He refuses to behold the sudden tenderness all over Dean’s face, turning his head to the side. He shouldn’t have said anything. The soft concern is worse, it’s so much worse.

“It’s fine. Here, lemme ride you?” He says, voice low, chancing a glance back at Dean’s face. His eyes are blown huge and he nods. 

“Yeah, sure,” he breathes. So reverent. So fucking adorable.

He rolls off of Jess and out of him, and Jess douses him in more lube before he straddles his hips. Dean’s hands find his waist immediately, wrapping around it like they had in the kitchen, sliding up and down soothingly, and the gentleness feels simultaneously like knives and silk against his skin. Jess ignores it and sinks down, the angle almost more intense than before, but he can control it now, can grind until he finds the right spot.

He works his hips slowly, then faster as he finds the right pace. After a minute or two Dean’s fingertips grow white where they press into his skin, his face looking pained from holding back. Of course he’s holding back — because Jess basically asked him to. Because he’s such a fucking good guy he’s going to listen when someone says he’s too much.

Jess is torn between feeling bitter and feeling powerful. He grins, harsh. 

He wants to tear Dean down. Wants him rough, wants him angry; wants him to feel a fraction as tormented as Jess always feels.

“Atta boy,” he says. “So good for me, being patient, letting me ride you.”

Dean doesn’t respond, just breathes heavier, fingers digging into Jess’s sides and eyes rolling back when Jess grinds a certain way. 

“Look at you, falling apart under me, but still keeping it together, huh? Such restraint. I thought you came here to prove something.”

Dean’s jaw clenches tight at that. “What are you doing, Jess?”

“All the work, clearly,” he shoots back, digging his fingers into Dean’s pecs. Dean grumbles, low in his chest.

“You asked to be on top!” He mumbles.

“And you give anybody what they ask, huh? Hell, I should have just asked for Rory. You would have just —”

“Unbelievable. Still a fucking smartass, huh? Even with my dick up your ass,” Dean snaps, breathless, and Jess’s eyes flash in victory. 

“Hey, as long as you’re a perfect, golden boy, I’ll be a smartass. We all have our roles to play, don’t we?”

Dean’s gaze locks on his, burning, and suddenly Dean’s surging up toward him, one iron arm wrapping around his back so that Jess is locked in his lap.

“And what makes me so perfect, huh? The fact that I’m fucking my ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend behind her back? Or is it how easy I’m going on him?”

Jess swallows, chest heaving. He tries to push Dean’s chest back down to the bed, but it’s like pushing against concrete. Dean surges up through his hips, yanking Jess down onto his cock, and Jess inhales sharply at the sensation, victory singing through him like flames.

“I always tried to be a nice guy, Jess. Always tried to do the right thing. But you —” Dean snakes a hand into Jess’s hair, pulling at it, exposing his neck. Pleasure shoots through every inch of him. “You just have to push my buttons, don’t you? You don’t know when to shut the hell up.”

Jess feels like he’s burning under his skin, held tight in Dean’s grip, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control. Dean’s glittering, bright gaze flicks between Jess’s eyes, all the haziness from before gone.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he says, low, and Jess doesn’t have time to retort back before he’s lifted and dropped back onto his back, his hips still firmly in Dean’s grasp. Dean kneels, pulling Jess’s hips up with him and resuming the intense pace of before.

This time, though, it doesn’t hurt. Jess doesn’t know if it’s because he’s had more time to adjust or because Dean has stopped being so goddamn precious and earnest about it, but it feels good; Dean’s cock deep in him like that, pressing up against his prostate, Dean’s eyes wild and a tinge pissed off above him, his mouth twisted in irritation, his chest tensed and glistening with sweat. 

He leans forward, grabbing Jess’s wrists in one hand and pinning them above his head, the roughness in combination with the change in angle making Jess want to scream. He doesn’t, of course, he can’t give Dean the satisfaction. But fuck.

“This is it, right, Jess? This is how you wanted me to act? Like a fucking caveman?”

Jess doesn’t respond, every witty comeback dying on his tongue, which is dry from his panting breaths at this point. He presses his hips closer to Dean’s, sucking him in further, and Dean curses, tossing his head back and fucking into him even harder.

“Gonna make sure you don’t forget this,” Dean grits, and Jess would laugh at the absurdity of the idea that he will ever forget this, but all he can do is bite into one of his own outstretched arms to muffle a moan.

“There we go,” Dean pants. “Finally found a way to shut you up, huh?” 

He leans down to nip at Jess’s neck. The large hand cupping his ass squeezes him tight, and Jess finally lets out a grunt that turns into a short moan. Dean shudders.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he babbles, and Jess squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge his words, but when Dean releases his wrists a moment later to bury a hand in his hair, he finally gives in to the impulse to touch Dean, wrapping his arms around his back, digging his nails in.

“Yeah, hold onto me. Just like that,” Dean coaches him, and he wants to punch him in the face a bit, but mostly wants to listen, wants to burrow closer, wants to be held like this means something — like he means something. It’s a stupid contradiction, it’s what Dean was doing before, before Jess ticked him off and broke him down. At least Jess is aware that he’s full of shit.

Dean’s getting close, he can tell, he’s tensing up and moving quicker and holding his breath, and when he pulls back and spits on his hand before wrapping it around Jess’s painfully hard cock, all Jess can do is stare, eyes half lidded and mouth open, at the sight of Dean fucking into him recklessly, haloed in the light of the lamp, jerking him off rough and quick, in time with his thrusts.

He looks wild, rabid, his teeth bared and jaw clenched, less angel, more demon. Jess revels in it. His hands go to squeeze into the bed sheets again but they land on Dean’s thighs instead, just above his knees, and when he digs his nails in there Dean meets his eyes and shoots him a sharp, mean grin.

Jess comes like that, trembling, with Dean’s eyes on him and his cock buried deep, and the sight of Jess losing his head to the pleasure must help push Dean over the edge because a few moments later he’s pumping deep into Jess one last time, shakily declaring that he’s coming, shit, and Jess can’t do anything but catch him when he collapses onto him a few seconds later.

They come to slowly — or, well, Dean does. Jess’s brain starts blaring annoying shockwaves of post-nut clarity almost immediately, but he allows himself to ignore it for a few minutes and bask. Dean’s chest is smothering him, his mouth pressed to the side of Jess’s head, heavy breaths puffing against his hair and one large, warm hand wrapped snugly around his waist.

When Dean grunts groggily before shifting and starting to pull out of him, he has to force himself not to cling to the larger boy and make him stay in for just a bit longer. Not even because he’s enjoying the closeness (he is, and it’s nauseating to admit that), but because he’s so not looking forward to what comes next. 

The “what the fuck even was that?”

The “you know I’m not gay, right?”

The “if you tell anyone about this I’ll strangle and kill you with my Doose’s Apron.”

Okay, that one almost made him laugh a little bit. At least he’s still got that.

“So?” Dean says, pulling Jess reluctantly from his thoughts, which are a lot funnier than the situation unfolding in his bed right now.

Jess turns his head to Dean, who, to his credit, doesn’t look all that ashamed at all. In fact, he’s stretched out like a cat in the sun, one arm lazily propping up his head, and a relaxed half smile on his face.

Jess looks away immediately, scowling.

“So what,” he asks the ceiling.

“Well, come on. For a first timer, I did pretty well, right?”

Jess snorts.

“That’s what you’re thinking right now. That you did good? What, you want a cookie? I meant it when I said I’m all out of gold stars.”

Dean leans in close, smiling against the side of Jess’s face. Jess’s heart pounds.

“…So you agree I deserve one,” he says, voice smug, and kisses Jess right next to his ear before leaning back again. “And no thanks on the cookie, I’m plenty satisfied right now — hey! Ow!”

Jess snickers, having whacked him in the stomach, hard. He rolls off the bed and strolls to the bathroom, pretending he can’t feel Dean’s eyes on him.

Dean sits up when Jess gets back and tosses him a washcloth. 

“Thanks,” he says, catching it and finally looking a little awkward as he stares down at the lube-covered, used condom still hanging off his dick.

He looks up, watching Jess wipe the cum off his chest with his own towel. He jerks his chin at Jess’s stomach. 

“You don’t wanna save that to use in your hair?”

Jess makes a disgusted face. “Jesus, what, have you been hanging out with Luke?” He asks, shaking his head and stalking to the bathroom to wash off the towel. 

Dean just chuckles, sounding stupidly pleased with himself. He can hear him rustling around — probably putting his clothes on. Getting ready to leave. He’s done, after all.

Jess clenches his jaw, leaves the bathroom and walks straight to his vanity, refusing to look in Dean’s direction and continuing to ignore the weight of the gaze on his back as he throws on a new pair of underwear. 

When he finally finds the courage to flick his eyes into the mirror, he finds Dean turned right side up in his bed, blanket snug around him, lips turned up in a stupid little grin.

“What are you doing.”

“What does it look like? I’m resting. I worked hard, I’m a growing boy,” he says, closing his eyes primly.

Jess just gapes at him, and after a silent moment Dean opens his eyes, snorting.

“What are you waiting for? Come on.”

“Come on what?”

“Come on and get in,” he says, looking fondly exasperated — like they’re old buddies, like they do this all the time — and pulls the blanket back to pat the space next to him. Jess gapes some more.

“It’s a fucking twin bed.”

“Oh trust me, I noticed,” Dean says pointedly, wiggling his feet for emphasis from where they dangle several inches off the end of the bed. “So what?”

Jess can feel his face turning red and hopes he can pass it off for anger. 

“So I’m not — not fucking — cuddling with you in my twin bed!”

Dean is watching him struggle for words, looking far too amused about it, and Jess crosses his arms over his chest defensively. 

“Where are you gonna sleep then? Luke’s bed? You know it is kind of cute that your beds are on opposite corners of the same room. Like summer camp. Do you tell scary stories to each other after lights out?”

Jess feels like his eyes might bulge out of his head from sheer annoyance. He picks his book up from where it fell unceremoniously onto the floor next to the bed after one of them kicked it off, yanks open his nightstand and pulls out his lighter and a pack of cigarettes, and stalks over to his window, opening it and sitting heavily on the sill. He lights the cigarette and cracks open the book. 

He gets through about 20 seconds of smoking and pretending to read before Dean speaks.

“Jess.”

Inhale. Exhale.

“Dean.”

“I’ll be gone in the morning, you know.”

Jess freezes, gazing at nothing in the middle of a page. 

“Not sooner?”

Dean sighs. “Just come over here. Lie down with me. I won’t bite. Unless —”

“Don’t finish that fucking sentence,” Jess mutters. 

“You can go back hating me tomorrow, I promise,” Dean says. “Just. For tonight.”

Jess inhales again and exhales slowly, setting the book down.

“I don’t need you to… take care of me, or something. I’m not your fucking —”

“Puppet, I know. Or my girlfriend. And you’re not a cheerleader, or ‘some girl I can toss around’. Or a person who needs anything from anyone, ever, but… I don’t know. Call me old-fashioned. I like to be close, for a bit, after… something like that. Please.”

Jess’s heart pounds, guilt and confusion and desire and bitterness churning through him. Is that what he seems like? A person who doesn’t need anything from anyone ever? That’s what he fucking wants to be, he knows that much. He’s not sure it’s possible.

He stubs out the cigarette, knowing that if Luke doesn’t smell it first he’ll see it and give him shit for it the next day. As if smoking was the worst thing Jess did in this room tonight. 

He closes the window. Walks to the bed.

Dean exhales, softly, like relief, as he pulls back the covers, and Jess doesn’t want to think about why — how — that is. How Jess’s presence, which has never caused Dean anything but pain and irritation up until tonight, could make him feel relieved.

He lays down, resolutely facing away from Dean, breaking out into goosebumps when Dean slinks forward, naked body hot like a brand all along the back of him. 

“Luke’ll be back early. Like, before the fucking sun rises. Be out by then.”

“I will,” Dean promises, not sounding put off at all by Jess’s cold tone, wrapping a heavy arm around his waist and nosing into the back of Jess's neck. He sighs heavily, body relaxing into Jess’s, like he’s content. “Come on, you gotta admit. This is nice,” he murmurs.

And yeah, sure, it is. Dean’s the type, Jess knows, to want this. To want intimacy after sex, comfort and safety with another person. He’s gonna live a gleaming, white picket fence life with a fucking cheerleader and 2.5 kids and he’s never gonna be haunted by what happened here, not like Jess will be. Or maybe he’ll come out, move back to Chicago and live with a dude, and excel at that too, with his magazine-cover face and his silky hair and his mom baking fucking casseroles when he and his businessman boyfriend come back to visit. 

“Yeah. It’s nice,” Jess whispers, and Dean is already asleep.

Jess wakes to a tee shirt landing on his face. 

“Diner’s slammed, get your ass up,” Luke shouts, louder than is strictly necessary. Jess pulls the shirt from his eyes, squinting violently against the sun streaming in through the window.

“Mmhhggh,” he mumbles. Luke snorts from the kitchen before pausing at the door and turning back to him.

“Move it, and don’t think we’re not gonna talk about the cigarette butt on the windowsill and the missing beer. Yeah, I counted.” He stalks out the door, mumbling a, “Fucking teenagers…” as he stomps down the stairs.

Jess sits up slowly, wincing at the soreness in his ass and lower back, and looks around.

No trace of Dean, his clothes; a quick glance into the wastebasket confirms he even took the condom with him. 

Gone. It’s what he promised, after all.

He’s easing himself out of bed when he sees it, the edge of a folded piece of paper sticking out from between two pages of his book where it rests on the nightstand. He pulls it out. 

“If you ever feel like being honest again. 860-555-6738”

Jess snorts and covers his face with his palm. Memories from last night flood him, Dean’s hands on him, rough and hot and huge, the way Jess pushed him until he snapped, the way Jess yielded to him so easily, after a year of taunting him. 

Fuck. Rory. 

He scrubs his hand over his face again, and stalks toward the shower, Dean’s note crumpled in his palm. 

Luke bursts back in the door just as Jess makes it to the bathroom door.

“Get moving, come on! And why the hell is Tom downstairs giving me shit about ‘not forgetting the extra pickles this time’? Fucking ridiculous…”

Jess grins softly, the note crinkling in his fist.

Honesty. 

Maybe someday.